Moonlight Serenade
by AliceHeart247
Summary: 1940s AU. A young woman moves to New York to escape the growing war and start her life over in a jazz cafe. Instead she finds herself wrapped up in the struggles of a suffering man and the controlling love of an old friend. Will she be able to choose where her life should go, or will she lose it all in heartbreak? E/C with some R/C
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello all! I'm so happy to be posting this story! It's been plaguing me since about halfway through Swan Song. Thank you to all who have read my other stories, and, of course, to you for reading this one now. I would like to send unending thanks to Phanatic01 being my unofficial beta and wonderful friend.**

 **Now, back to the present, or the past if we're getting technical. I hope you all enjoy this story. The 1940s is my favourite era, so finding a way to write a Phantom story set there is really fun. I will put the credits for the songs I use at the end of each chapter so it doesn't give too much away. I want to point out that I don't own many of these characters, and that their source material is far from mine, but this story is definitely mine. Have fun!**

France, November 1918

 _Trenches. Damn these never ending trenches,_ he thought to himself. He knew that everyone else in them was thinking the exact same thing. That and, _God, please don't let me be called up next_. It would come, though. Eventually they would all be called up to rush over the muddy slopes, to charge across the quagmire of what once used to be a beautiful grassy field, dodging the carcasses of fallen fellows. They would have to look away, not hear the occasional crunch of breaking bones, or the slight stumble that came from tripping over a scattered arm or leg. They would have to hurry across this slippery and sticky plain of brown, grey, and black under the vain pretence that they would make it to the other side to do a damn bit of good. It was ridiculous to think that it would, though. They would all most assuredly be ploughed down by machine gun fire, or, if they made it that far, the rifles of their opponents. Most likely they would have just enough time to come within decent range to be shot down. A veritable wall of corpses would eventually form and both sides would cease their argument to haul away the bodies, only to start it all over the following day.

Sitting in the trenches themselves was not much better. It was enough to make one wonder if the sweet relief of death was any better than sitting in a long hole in the ground. Rain poured over their heads, keeping their feet perpetually damp. God help you if you had any sort of cut or wound. It would be infected two seconds after receiving it, and illness would take you. Yet, when the ground is a swamp of mud and other unpleasant substances one did not dare think about, there was not much to be done.

It made one weigh the option of starving to death in a trench, or meeting the admittedly acrid air above one last time. Their rations were small, though they lost more men by the day to the unceasing charges. Many looked more skeleton than man, and several had become quite the experts on catching rats or any life that dared cross their path. Some of the men wondered if they dared shoot the crows and vultures that feasted on the dead, but somehow knowing you were eating something that had just been ripping the flesh off the man who had stood next to you mere hours before seemed decidedly unsavoury.

So it went, on and on. The ears were ringing from the machinery of death all firing at once, the nose giving up on trying to discern anything beyond simple air, and the eyes forever distant from seeing far too much. Death surrounded the senses, and where it did not, the mind filled in the blanks. Memories of men who had shook your hand were now dead, men who had laughed with you once upon a time were gone, and the boys you rode with to begin this whole battle were either never coming back or now men. Men who had seen it all. Men who had their eyes opened far too harshly to the horrors of war. Gone were the lies home had told them of the glory of battle. Gone were the rose tinted tales grandparents would tell of the old days. Now was only death, destruction, and the greatest yearning to go anywhere but here.

One man in particular found himself longing for this. It was not that he had someone waiting as so many of the other soldiers (that word sounding hollow in his mind) did, or any family to welcome him with open arms, he simply wanted to leave all of this behind. The days where he had wondered if it were all some sort of dream were gone. In fact, he had been awake so long, the days had blended together. Sitting at his post, hearing the ear-splitting sounds of the heavy artillery firing off and then the dull explosion of the impact, he longed for what he remembered to be the most beautiful place on Earth. Home. To him, it was Paris. He knew that more likely than not it would never again look so fine to him as it did now, having long tolerated it begrudgingly as the place where he had lived most of his life. His life. He nearly laughed at this. He felt like he had lived his whole life in this Godforsaken pit. He felt like the life he had dreamed of was only that, a dream. Nothing existed beyond this war and the noise and the smoke and the cries of the dead. He pitied the wounded, envied the dead, and remained like a ghost beside the living.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the world. The air, once thick and impassable, now hung silent and still. It was like the Earth had ceased to turn. He could not bring himself to move, even to breathe or think as this overwhelming quiet reigned heavily over the din.

Then it hit.

No one heard it or saw it, but the explosion wracked the world, and for one instant he thought he saw Heaven.

* * *

He awoke. _God!_ he thought. _I'm actually awake!_ He blinked blearily and quickly regretted this decision, but not quite so much as he did his choice to attempt movement. Everything hurt like no one would ever believe. His legs were heavy, his arms felt like sticks of pure pain, his neck refused to lift the suddenly great weight of his head, and his face… _God!_ He cursed again. Ignoring the agonising pain, he let his fingers fumble around to his face. What he felt nearly sent him over the edge of he knew not what.

His whole head was covered in bandages. He had only enough of a gap to see out of and to feel his lips. They felt strange. No longer were they rounded and smooth, but straight and thin like nothing more than a line from which to bend and form words. He began to panic then.

Patting the wrappings carefully proved his flesh to be incredibly tender. His fingers, also wrapped, thankfully worked. They had always been his treasure. Long and spidery, he could play the piano more fluidly than anyone, but this concerned him little at the moment.

After a few excruciating minutes, he managed to sit up and view his surroundings. He was in a hospital, that much was clear, but where began to worry him. Sunlight poured in through frosted windows beside the small cot he had been lying on. He was alone in the somewhat small room which only served to worry him further.

The floor was a smooth tile of alternating white and grey. The walls were of the same grey with white border cutting across the middle. Looking at his bedside table, he noticed a basin of water, bandages, and multiple frightening tools. He worried again over who had left them there so haphazardly until he heard a roaring cheer outside the door to his right.

Clutching his hands over his ears at the sound, he found himself amazed it could manage to bother him so. He had lived through much louder in this war, but nothing quite compared.

Dazedly standing, he found his legs quite thin in the hospital gown he now noticed he was wearing. How humiliating. To wake up from…what had he woken up from? He found his mind struggling to remember the last few moments. He remembered the overwhelming silence, then a terrible explosion.

He felt himself give out, collapsing some on the bed as it all came crashing back.

He had been thrown back several feet by the detonation, a great searing and burning sensation was battling to make itself felt all over his face as he struggled to understand everything else that was going on. He had vaguely felt one of his legs break, and maybe an elbow, but he was not sure. He had laid there, feeling a ringing echo annoyingly through his senses until he was swallowed in black.

He had been blown up, or nearly so.

This thought sent him to his feet and across the room on a greatly protesting leg to a mirror that hung on the wall. He stared for a moment at his reflection, mostly white bandages with a few splotches of red and sickly yellow. Fumblingly, he tore at the coverings, growing more impatient as he went, revealing something that scared him more than the war ever could have.

His face. God! His face!

He could hardly stomach the sight of it. Turning away in horror of what he barely believed to be himself anymore, he tried not to retch. Coming back over to the bed, he crawled under the thin blanket and curled into a ball. He sobbed, ignoring the sting of his tears as they ran into the cuts and burns of his visage. He had never been a vain man, but this…this was reserved for the Devil himself.

He lay like this until finally he had no more tears left in him. Sitting up, he grabbed the roll of bandages from his side table and again wrapped the monstrosity that would be him. Perhaps there was something to be done, he hoped against hope. Perhaps the doctors can fix this. He knew he was kidding himself, but nothing seemed too outlandish anymore.

Just as he finished re-concealing his hideousness, a nurse came into the room. She was small and rather innocent looking. She paused, a bit of her rosy colour leaving her as she looked at the man sitting on the bed. He knew the instant their eyes met that she had seen him before he had awoken. He found himself becoming eerily familiar with that distinct look of fear in her eyes.

'H-how are you feeling, Monsieur?' she asked, cautiously edging towards him.

He did not know how to answer that. He did not remember the names of enough emotions to accurately list all of the jumble he was now experiencing.

'D-did you hear the news?' she asked, still keeping her distance as he stared at her. 'The war's over. It's ended,' she announced, letting a bit of her joy back into her voice.

A hollowness seemed to grow within the center of his chest. It felt like loss. He had lived so long in this Hell, and now he was released from it to…what? He felt his despair turn to anger at the cruel hand fate had dealt him. Of course the war had ended, but now there was nothing left for him. All of those days he had naïvely sat longing for home, and now he had returned looking like a horrible monster!

The nurse must have seen some of this flash furiously in his eyes, for she took a step back and began to tremble slightly. She remained in the room only long enough to remove the tools which had previously sat on the table before quickly scurrying out.

A blinding rage overtook him at her fearful actions and he flew from the bed, rushing to the wall to punch the mirror. He felt the burning of the glass as it cut into him, but ignored it to revel in the sound of the shards clattering to the floor, twinkling in the air as they fell.

Leaning on the wall, he caught his suddenly ragged breath. His mind became calm as he thought over his next course of action. He could not stay here, that was for damn sure, but where he would go, or how he would escape remained a half-hearted mystery to him.

He suddenly felt a reckless power overtake him as he realised he was not bound to anything anymore. He had no war to fight, no home to feel himself responsible for. He could be anything without the rules of humanity to get in his way. How could he claim to be human with a face like this?

Slinking from his room, he made his escape, snagging some clothes from a closet on the way out. Shunning the outside light, he crept into the shadows, basking in their cool, non-judgemental touch. It was then that he vowed to start over and live the life he had always wanted for himself.

* * *

Sweden, November 11, 1918

A silver cry cut through the air. Brown curls already beginning to frame a heart shaped face. Eyes of the richest blue looked up into the wondering faces of two very proud and marvelling parents.

'Congratulations Herr and Fru Daaé, it's a girl,' the midwife announced, handing off the delicate child to the anxiously awaiting arms of her mother.

'Oh, Gustave, isn't she beautiful?' she asked, looking to her beloved husband.

'She's perfect, my love. Just like you.' He leaned in to kiss his wife's soft cheek.

The babe looked up to him and laughed. Her voice was enough to make angels weep.

'Hello, Christine Daaé.' He smiled down at her adoringly.

 **A/N: No song ref yet, but I wanted to let you all know that against my better judgement, I have started a blog on Tumblr for this story. I will answer any questions you all may have, post links to the songs, dresses, and general-ness that I feel should accompany this story. You can find my page by my penname and type fanfic in the search box. Hope to see you all there and I hope you like this story!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I would like to point out as it confused my poor beta-reader, Phanatic01, that I have taken innumerable liberties with the Majestic theatre in New York. I liked its positioning, its being opened in March of 1927, and also its obvious connection to Phantom. I apologise if any of you find this confusing.**

 **Thank you all for following/favouriting this story.**

New York, October 9, 1939

People rushed here and there throughout the city, going from place to place in the rat race of business. Automobiles rushed just those few extra feet in traffic to make their passengers feel more like they were going somewhere. Tourists gawped at the sheer height of the buildings seeming to scrape the heavens themselves. Locals quietly rolled their eyes at the familiar sights of the city they knew so well. People complained and griped, but none left because New York had its claws in each and every one of them. It had a magnetic hold that never truly released. No matter where you went or how young or old you were, you were always a New Yorker at heart. A part of you would always remember and cling to the sights, sounds, smells, and overall atmosphere of the city which shone too bright and worked too long into the night. A city that never sleeps. A city that never stops; that is always brushing the sky and pushing beyond in their arrogant struggles for excellence and progress. Many would fall and fail, but those who soared would never know it for their sights were forever placed higher. Nothing was perfect and nothing was ever finished. It all climbed and stretched to that unachievable goal of perfection.

Broadway lights flared even in the daylight and voices rang out across the din of the hustle and bustle of the ever moving city. No rest for the wicked, as they say. Still, some rested. Some form of quiet must be sounded to truly have such noise. Some soft voices must be heard before they can roar. A star must be seen amongst the dazzling lights before it can truly shine. Not all stars are born out of complete disaster or mind-numbing opulence. Some are slightly more ordinary than you might expect.

A fairly small building just one in from 8th Avenue and facing West 44th Street. It was here that such a hidden talent as could capture the hearts of the world over would rise. In this building also lurked the great and terrible power to bring that glory forth.

It had long been assumed that the Majestic Theatre was haunted. Many had heard the light tapping through the strange walls, noted the disappearance of props, music sheets, and occasionally a costume or two. These misplaced facades which had been left in storage under the false assumption that they would one day come in handy, now missing. Despite the old habits of the Great Depression, these articles were never noted until they were gone.

It had also, however, been long forgotten what the Majestic had been before it was a dark and comforting little jazz café. It was known that it had been built in the twenties where the lion's roar reached the wild and careless hearts of the masses of the already buzzing city, but somewhere along the way the purpose was forgotten. It was hard to think of in detail, as most of its passageways had been closed to prying eyes years ago, but once upon another time it had been a speak-easy. Its secret halls and doors leading into a labyrinth of long since added to rooms and accommodations. The placement of the building thankfully not interfering with that great hole in the ground and all of its little trains of people, allowed for a basement to be constructed. It had been there before, but now it was much more intricate with more than just a deep room where the sales of illegal alcohol in the days of prohibition and lack of inhibitions had been held.

Now, however, with the war raging in Europe once more, and people desperately avoiding the pleas of others to help, the history of the place was forgotten. America had enough problems to be trying to worry about the fact that the Majestic seemed bigger on the outside than in. It went unnoticed even by the managers that their facility had odd dimensions which were unaccounted for. In fact, it was not until one of the aforementioned diamonds in the rough of busily moving traffic came, that the incongruences of the exterior and interior went noticed again. Still, it was mildly pushed aside to make room for the worry that was filling the observant potential's mind.

'Christine!' Meg Giry squealed, launching herself at her friend with arms already extended to receive the long awaited hug.

'Easy, Meg. Don't bowl me over,' the half-unsuspecting newcomer warned, taking the embrace with an oof.

'Sorry,' the still excited girl said, letting her friend go quickly, only to take up her hands. 'Oh, but it's good to see you again, Christine.' She admired her companion's long, brown finger waved curls, pooling just below her collarbone. Meg had always adored and envied Christine her pale complexion and shining hazel eyes. Taking away a bit of the admiration, however, Meg had never known Christine to be one to flaunt her beauty.

'It is good to see you too, Meg. New York looks well on you,' Christine remarked, her musical voice shining with barely constrained happiness. She noted that her friend had changed very little in the three years they had been apart. She had known Meg for quite some time back in France, but now that Meg and her mother had secured her a job in the states, she was overjoyed to be reunited. She simply hoped the managers were as pleased with her arrival as Meg was.

'What do you think of the city so far?' Meg questioned, walking Christine over to a table and chairs.

'It's…big,' Christine said, blowing out her cheeks in remembrance of her first sight of it on the ferry. She had felt like an ant when walking through the crowded streets. Even her new apartment, just across the hall from Meg's, seemed too big and different for her to find comfort in. She had arrived only a few hours ago and already felt like she would never know her way around. The city had an odd sense about it. It was daunting, but also thrillingly inviting. It was like a horror novel; scary, but impossible to put down.

'Yeah, Maman and I felt that way when we first arrived.' Meg nodded understandingly. She remembered how excited she had been when first stepping into the city. Her strict mother had forbidden her from wandering far, but that did not stop the adventurous and eager blonde from escaping for a bit of fun on occasion.

Christine took a moment to look about her, seeing the space for the first time and again getting that nagging feeling that the outside looked odd compared to the inside. The room was fairly dark with wood panelling lining the walls and matching boards in the floor. Scattered about were some tables and chairs all angled slightly towards a half-circle stage. It was lit sparingly with only three footlights and one small spotlight affixed just in from the apex of the stage. It was only big enough for a singer and a small band, which worked, she guessed, as that was all that was ever meant to play upon it. To the back of the room was a bar that looked like it was from the old west, and across from the front door were the restrooms and an office door tucked up at the corner closest to the stage.

Meg followed her friend's gaze over to the door with frosted glass, lettered with _Managers_ rather more imposingly than was necessary.

'You'll be fine,' she waved off, knowing Christine was nervous. She herself had been when first applying to work here, but one minute with the managers had quelled her fears. It had not taken much for her and her mother to convince them to hire extra help in the form of Christine. The Girys had felt badly over having to leave the girl behind in France, having become like family to her, but with the war pressing ever closer. The chance for a better employ in the states had come and they could not pass it up. Christine had understood and had only partially held out hope for their departing promises to find her a job to bring her back to them. She had been happily surprised when she had received a letter only a month ago saying they had made good of their word. She had packed what little she possessed, took whatever money she had saved from her job at a local flower shop, and booked her passage over to join the Girys.

Getting up on suddenly shaky legs, she walked over to the office door, thankful for Meg following her. She needed the moral support for as long as it lasted. Holding up a hand, she took a deep breath before finally knocking.

Unbeknownst to her, she was being watched by more than just Meg. Though it was too early for customers, there were a set of eyes watching her every move and analysing her slightest gestures.

'Come in,' came the somewhat tired response through the door. Taking another deep breath of reassurance, Christine walked in.

She was not entirely surprised to find the room small and square, given the size of the rest of the interior of the building—that niggling feeling of odd proportions coming back to her and faintly creasing her brow—but she was impressed with the tasteful décor somehow packed into its small confines. The walls were a pleasing burgundy with gold accents and a deep brown mahogany base board running round the bottom half and blending into the floor. Against the far wall, with just enough room in the corner to wedge in a rolling chair, was a great double sized desk of a rich cherry wood that stood out against the dark, baroque colour scheme. On one side of the desk, stuffed against the corner was one of the managers, hunched over his desk at work, while the other had his feet propped up on the other side of the desk, reading a newspaper casually while his chair threatened to scrape the other wall of the cramped room. Oddly enough, the one who seemed to be engrossed in actual work was the one who looked up first.

'Ah, Miss Daaé, I presume,' he said with a broad and welcoming smile. He had hair that matched the desk and was meticulously coiffed to hide the slight grey that was invading at his temples. He looked to be fairly handsome, even as he approached his fifties, and his eyes were bright.

'Yes, sir,' Christine said rather stiffly, stopping herself from saying Monsieur as was her tendency from France.

'A pleasure to meet you, the Girys have spoken about you often.' He extended a hand to her while the other man calmly looked her up and down without moving his newspaper.

'I fear you have caught me at a disadvantage, sir,' she said, ducking her chin shyly.

'Oh, do forgive me,' he blustered after a mutter of mystified surprise, 'such manners.' He was thoroughly impressed to see someone so young with such a gracious and almost old fashioned nature. 'My name is Richard Firmin, and this is my partner, Giles Andrews.' He waved over to the other man, hoping to garner some sort of response. Giles just inclined his head before returning to his reading. He had dark, thinning hair, and a rather passive gaze which made Christine feel rather uneasy. But, she supposed, it was better than being scrutinised. 'You will have to forgive him also, he is rather useless in the afternoon,' he whispered somewhat conspiratorially.

'That's all right,' Christine said with lingering unease.

'Well,' Richard said, sticking his hands in his pockets idly. 'I suppose that about wraps it up for me. You will come here every day, including weekends, and I believe Mrs. Giry has already told you what your salary is to be. So, there's little left to discuss,' he said, vaguely. Christine had noted from the passiveness of Giles that they seemed fairly unoccupied in their job and started to wonder what it was they actually did around here.

'I see,' she said, happy to be leaving the tiny office. 'I just wanted to thank you very much for giving me this opportunity,' she said, already letting him escort her the few inches to the door.

'Of course! Mrs. Giry assured us you would be a hard worker, and we expect as much from you.' He tried to sound firm, but it was obvious even to her still nervous mind that it was something of a bluff.

'Oh, I will,' she assured hurriedly.

'Wonderful! Young Ms. Giry should be able to show you around and tell you all of the little things that need doing. You can start tomorrow, if that is all right?' He looked at her uncertainly until she nodded eagerly. His smile spread across his face warmly again before he ducked back into the office.

Christine remained outside the door a moment, staring at it with stern confusion. She was vaguely aware of a smug Meg leaning against the table they had sat at earlier.

'Completely incompetent, aren't they?' she said with a tiredly amused tone and smile.

'Are they always so…passive about their responsibilities?' Christine asked, turning to look perplexedly at Meg. 'I mean, I was expecting some sort of challenge or interview, but they just handed it to me with the blind faith that your mother had good judgement.'

'Afraid so,' Meg pursed her lips bemusedly at the door. 'On the upside, their lack of involvement allows us to actually get things done. They rarely come out of there, and when they do, it just makes us glad how much freedom they allow us. Every now and again they will feel inspired to make sure everything is going well and will start trying to be more manager-like. It is kind of annoying, but they get tired of it quickly and return to their little hideaway,' she explained rather calmly.

'Well, I suppose in some ways that's good. They didn't sound like they knew what they were doing anyways.'

'Oh, they don't. Maman basically runs this place. We have old Joseph who runs the bar, you and I will be in charge of cleaning, a few band members, and Carlotta is our lead...singer.' She paused before grimacing the word. 'Our managers only come in when we need to decide what songs to perform and to occasionally help calm down Carlotta when she holds a fit. You'll meet her soon enough and will understand,' she added to Christine's eyebrow raise.

'I suppose with someone like her, I don't have much to worry about,' Christine said more for the confirmation than to sound confident.

'Trust me, you would have to burn down the building to get fired. Or just anger the ghost.' She said this so matter-of-factly that it seemed perfectly normal.

'Ghost?' Christine crossed her arms as Meg turned back as though it were not even worth mentioning.

'Yeah, the Phantom,' she said easily.

Christine gave her an incredulous look. 'Meg, I would have thought you too old for such silly stories,' she said, though Meg was only just turned nineteen.

'What?' she asked as though it were only natural, spreading her hands out innocently. 'He's real, okay? We've heard him around, tapping on walls, making costumes disappear, and he's even sent letters of complaint to the managers. Joseph almost got fired because they thought he was the one sending them. The Phantom insists that if certain demands aren't met, then something bad will happen, and it always does. Once, he didn't receive his salary,' this detail garnered another incredulous eyebrow raise from Christine, 'and all of the bottles of brandy exploded on the bar.' Meg explained all of this with a childish glint forming in her eyes.

Christine shook her head and sighed. 'Fine, Meg. Far be it from me to tell you what to believe, even if you are being completely ridiculous.' She waved it off, moving to walk past Meg.

'It's true!' Meg insisted with that grin of excitement.

Christine raised her hands and dipped into her shoulders to shirk off any offence created.

'You'll see soon enough.' Meg almost pouted, continuing their tour.

They moved off towards the stage, walking down a very narrow hall to the backstage area. It had another corridor with the stairs up to the stage on the left, and a line of three doors on the right. Meg explained that the first was the storage closet where they kept the mop, bucket, and spare supplies. The second was a store room for the liquor and stuff for the bar. The third was a dressing room for Carlotta to use, but she never did so it turned into a costume room for anyone who did not already have their suits or dresses on when they arrived. Meg explained that this room remained mostly empty of people. She told her that Carlotta always came in what the diva considered perfect condition and always left with whoever seemed wealthiest in the crowd at the end of each night.

'A bit of a waste of space then, don't you think?' Christine observed, wondering if this truly was the very back of the building. She looked into the closet sized store room and noted that they were not as deep as one would expect. Once again, she shook off her confused frown and followed Meg back into the main section of the building.

'It's got its quirks, but what building doesn't?' Meg replied indifferently. 'Now,' she got a business-like tone in place, making Christine almost laugh at the younger girl preparing to give her instruction. 'You will need to be here tomorrow to help me clean by one o'clock and will not dare leave me until the end of the night…midnight.' She said the last almost ominously.

'Fair enough.' Christine stifled a giggle at her friend's dramatics. 'What will we do the whole night?'

'Besides trying not to listen to Carlotta sing, you and I will deliver drinks to tables and try to get enough tips to make this worth it and to survive the high rent of this silly city.' She giggled.

'Every night?' Christine asked, feeling the weight of her new responsibility begin to settle on her shoulders.

'Unless you've got something better to do.' Meg placed her hands on her hips and tried to look like a stern mother.

Christine laughed and sighed dramatically. 'Fine. I suppose I will have to make do,' she joked.

'Hey, don't jinx it. This is better than secretary work, I'm telling you. Plus, you get bigger tips if you flirt with the customers.' She winked coyly.

'Meg! If your mother hears you talk like that, she'll have your head!' Christine looked around anxiously, hoping the daunting Mrs. Giry would not pop up out of some shadow to reprimand them both. Mothers are good at doing such things.

Meg only laughed more before noticing the clock. 'I had better get started on cleaning.' She sighed. 'This will be so much easier with you joining,' she huffed tiredly.

'Well I'm glad I could help.' Christine shook her head lightly at her friend's fusses.

She watched the little blonde head off to the back rooms again, glancing about and nodding. Things could be worse, and they had been far too many times before.

Once more unaware, she was being watched by a pair of amber eyes. Though she could not see them or their owner, they tracked her every move. Admiration started to bloom in watching this girl with her natural grace. Yet, it was her sweet tones—especially in laughter—which made the fascination grow.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you all for being so patient. I am considering bumping the updating schedule to Mondays as well as Fridays in about two weeks (when I get off for summer break). As always, the reviews, follows, favourites, and kindness you all put towards this story is greatly appreciated. And big thanks again to my beta, Phanatic01. Enjoy!**

New York, October 10, 1939

Christine walked with purpose into the Majestic on her very first day of work. She arrived at one o'clock on the dot as Meg had instructed and found her friend hiding her purse in a cabinet under the bar. She took a sigh of relief that she did not have to contend with frustrated managers at not being early. Meg quickly soothed her fears of such a thing, saying they would not even arrive until later that afternoon. The time difference was still a matter of contention in her body, making it hard to adjust so quickly. Mrs. Giry came in a half hour later to take stock of everything, write a note for Richard and Giles of what they would need in soon for the bar, and also help the girls check that the place was clean. Meg and Christine mopped the floors and made sure they were shining, while Mrs. Giry washed the left over glasses from the previous night in the small sink set into the back of the bar.

'You will be surprised how much one actually has to do every day to make sure this old place is cleaned. The humans of New York are surprisingly dirty things,' Meg said to Christine while the brunette wiped her curls out of her eyes with the back of her hand.

'Oh, I've noticed.' Christine grimaced at the memory of the subway station she went to upon her arrival. She also remembered battling the insects in her apartment just to take a shower, and not to mention the slightly stale smell of the air at first and last light.

'Trust me, it only gets worse in the summer heat.' Meg rolled her eyes dramatically.

'Mustn't complain, Margaret. Lest you go back to Paris without a job,' Mrs. Giry, ever stern and strict, scolded from her work station.

'Yes, Maman.' Meg dipped her head at the reprimand, but shot Christine a sly grin.

'Tell me, Christine,' Mrs. Giry continued. 'What are your first impressions of life in New York?' She gave the now modestly smiling young woman her attentions.

'I-I think it's wonderful. It is so large, though. I fear I could just get lost in it.' Then she added to herself, 'I almost wish I would.'

'You'll be fine, dear. Who knows, perhaps you won't find the city quite so boisterous after a bit of time here.' She gave her a wink, making Meg gape in frustration.

'Oh, so Christine gets to flirt all she wants, but I'm barely able to leave the apartment?! How is that fair?' she demanded, just shy of stomping her foot.

'Because, Margaret, Christine is twenty and you are but nineteen. Besides, though she is my responsibility, she is not my daughter,' Mrs. Giry replied, giving her still young offspring a freezing look.

'Don't worry, Meg,' Christine assured once Mrs. Giry had moved off somewhere else. 'I'm not interested in any of that.'

'I know.' Meg tried to glare but could not manage it. They were like sisters, and no siblings as close as they could stay mad at each other forever. 'But you might consider it. Finding someone would get you a better life.'

'I'm not interested in getting a better life unless I make it for myself, thank you.' Christine lifted her head imperiously before ducking her chin and looking woefully at the floor. 'Besides, I'm not all that great at anything.'

'Christine, you are too beautiful to go around moping all the time.' Meg sighed tiredly. Walking over to the bar, she switched on the radio on the back counter, adjusting the dial to some good music.

Coming back over to her friend, she held out her hands and they leapt into a dance as the swinging tunes of jazz filled the small café. They giggled and twirled with no particular skill beyond Meg. She had danced for years to any song she heard, having been too wild-spirited for ballet. She had learned from sneaking off to watch couples at local functions and doing her utmost to mimic them with ease. They kept on like this for a time until the song ended and they plopped down in a couple of chairs, still laughing from their small bout of silliness.

From inside the wall, something moved, trying to get a better vantage point. The new voice had interrupted It's work and disturbed It's concentration. It had come all the way up here to berate the two girls their foolishness, but found instead the one called Christine talking in her soft tones to little Ms. Giry. The blonde was still a young thing, just finishing growth and starting to mature, but Christine had her over by a few year and it was delightfully plain. Yet seeing her shyness only enhanced her effortless beauty. She hid in her hair, muttering something rather silly like not being of value. It longed to reach out and touch her silken curls and feel them glide through It's fingers. Her hazel eyes filled with light when Meg turned on the radio. It thought It's breath would leave It forever as It watched them dance and laugh. Christine was too pretty in her navy blue, A-line skirt and simple white blouse as she twirled and swayed to the music. Her voice caught It off guard as It listened to a subtlety It had not noticed in her tones before. She had some potential it seemed, but such things were hard to tell unless she—

'Oh, come on, you sing so beautifully. I remember the music your father would play and how you would sing with him. And this is such a pretty song,' Meg pleaded as the instrumental quickly began to fade.

Christine sighed heavily before straightening her posture and taking a strong breath. When she opened her mouth, all the world seemed to stop and listen. The very air froze in place as the notes flowed from her lips.

 _There's a saying old,_

 _Says that love is blind._

 _Still, we're often told,_

 _Seek and ye shall find._

 _So I'm going to seek a certain lad I've had in mind._

 _Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet._

 _He's the big affair I cannot forget._

 _Only man I ever think of with regret._

 _I'd like to write his initials in my monogram._

 _Tell me, where is the shepherd for his lost lamb?_

 _There's a somebody I'm longing to see,_

 _I hope that he turns out to be,_

 _Someone who'll watch over me._

It's breath continued to catch and hold toughly as she sang. It's molten gold eyes swimming at the emotion she put into this song and just how crystalline her voice was. It could hardly stand to remain behind the wall when such purest beauty existed just within It's eager reach.

 _I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood._

 _I know I could always be good_

 _To one who'll watch over me._

 _Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome,_

 _To my heart he carries the key._

 _Won't you tell him please to put on some speed?_

 _Follow my lead._

 _Oh, how I need_

 _Someone to watch over me._

 _Someone to watch over me!_

Christine held her last powerful note, feeling the tears pricking her eyes already as she felt the full force of the sentiment of the song come rushing down upon her. She had sung her heart out to someone she had long doubted was even listening. Casting her brimming eyes up to the ceiling distantly, she sent up a silent hope that her destined audience was smiling down proudly.

Meg interrupted these feeling quickly, however, throwing herself at her friend eagerly with a multitude of compliments.

'Oh, Christine, that was beautiful!' she said, pulling out of the excited embrace. 'I wish I had half your talent.'

Christine smiled at the floor, blushing slightly. 'I'm a little out of practice, though,' she admitted in a small voice.

'Your father would be so proud of you,' she told her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Meg's light blue eyes found their way to Christine's hazel ones and ensured the compliment with nothing but a glance.

'Thank you, Meg.' Christine sniffled back her emotions and straightened again. 'Shall we get back to work? I would hate to be fired on the first day.'

'There's little chance of that,' Meg said with a somewhat incredulous smirk.

 _Oh, yes,_ It thought in the walls. _Very little chance of that now._ It could still feel It's heart pounding oddly and It's stomach tumbling as if falling down a steep slope. It could not find a way to describe It's feelings, but It was certain that angel who had just sung so wonderfully leaving here would solve little.

'Maybe you could audition for the managers. That way we won't have to deal with Carlotta's wailing anymore,' Meg only half joked, continuing her polishing of the tables while Christine ran the mop around the floor.

'Oh no, Meg! I could never! I am nowhere near good enough to do that,' Christine hurriedly assured, her eyes wide in alarm.

'Give yourself some credit for once, Christine,' Meg groaned good-naturedly. 'Trust me, once you hear her tonight, you will be hurrying off to relieve us all from the torture.' She nodded firmly.

Within the wall, It had to stifle a chuckle of agreement. Granted, this Christine did need a bit of work on her breath and had only a few errors in pitch, but she was miles better than that damned Carlotta. It shivered to think that It would once again have to be put through that banshee's cry tonight. It could also understand Christine's hesitance of being so bold, though. It knew all too well the daunting threat of being put on display. It would ensure her safety and security, It vowed. Her talent was far too glorious to hide. It would take extra care to make sure she was kept safe…

* * *

That night came faster than Christine had anticipated, so much of it filled with laughter and catching up with Meg. After three years apart, she was only half surprised that they could so easily fall back into their old routine. Having been like sisters before, they knew just how to make the other laugh, even when it was not the best of times for it.

As Christine came back to the bar to get an order of drinks for a table, Meg happened to catch her.

'How's it coming?' she asked the brunette, who blew out her cheeks to show how overwhelmed she felt. 'Yeah, I was like that too for a while. You get used to it.'

'When's the music supposed to start?' Christine asked, noting that the band had mostly set up already on the little stage.

'Ugh, don't rush it.' Meg rolled her eyes. 'Our in house diva should be starting her howling any minute now.'

'Oh, come on, Meg. She can't be all that bad,' Christine insisted, taking her now loaded tray of drinks back out into the small sea of tables.

No sooner had she spoken, hefting the tray over her shoulder, then a rather buxom red head with far too much makeup had come out onto the stage. It appeared even smaller now that she and her ridiculous furred boa inhabited it. She had a too bright red lips stick on her admittedly pretty lips and would have served to downplay the vibrant green eyeshadow that clashed horribly with her fiery red hair.

Christine paused in her step, wanting to have full attentions devoted to the infamous woman when she first sang. She immediately regretted it.

The first note was sharp and her tone was completely wrong for the piece. It seemed the key was too low as her vibrato sounded like she was on one of those ridiculous exercise machines. Christine tried hard not to let her jaw drop, but it did anyway as she turned to look at Meg. The little blonde had to clamp her hand over her mouth as she looked at Christine's expression of pain, surprise, and near disgust. Meg's cheeks pinched as she managed to remove her hand from her mouth without exploding in laughter to give an "I told you so" shrug.

Christine shook her head, turning back and cringing from the sounds Carlotta was issuing in place of the music. Continuing her delivery of drinks, she tried to mask the horror of seeing so many of the men there eyeing Carlotta with reverence and admiration. One even leaned over to Christine to mutter, lost in his daze of wonder, 'Isn't she great?' Christine had to repress a shudder and thanked the Heavens she was not expected to answer as the man continued to watch, enraptured, as the woman on stage began eyeing men in the crowd with sultry smiles and winks.

The night passed rather excruciatingly as every time Christine had thought she had somehow managed to block out Carlotta's so called singing, a harsh note or odd phrasing would make itself all the more painful. At long last, however, they finally managed to escort the one remaining man to the door now that the show had finished.

Meg leaned against the closed door, sighing heavily as she had finally finished guiding a worse for wear man out, shoving his hat lopsidedly onto his head as she pushed him into the street beyond. She caught a giggle from her friend as she leaned precariously against the door, her feet out in front of her, only stopping her downward slide on the wood by the edge of her heeled shoes.

'So, what'd you think?' she asked, managing to stand without sliding down to the floor.

'About which part?' Christine questioned with mirth tinting her tones.

'Any and all of it,' Meg threw her arms out in a wide, circular gesture.

'It was…fine. I really think we should provide cotton, though,' she said with a serious look.

'Cotton?' Her friend cocked her head to the side, letting blonde curls pool on her shoulder.

'For your ears,' Christine told her, gaining a smirk.

'I told you. Even if you're out of practice, it's still better than her.' Meg nodded towards the stage with a slightly repulsed look.

Christine smiled modestly. 'Yes, well, don't expect me to do such a thing any time soon, all right? I'd hate to get your hopes up.'

'You don't have to be so innocent all the time, you know.' Meg rolled her eyes again. 'If you ever want to earn big tips from the customers, you gotta flirt with them a bit. Find a way for them to notice you instead of Ms. Wailing up there,' Meg continued, watching with amusement as Christine's eyes widened in embarrassed horror.

'Meg Giry! I think New York has worn off on you,' Christine mock scolded, muttering a reprimand of Meg's use of "gotta".

They laughed for a bit over this before Meg finally calmed, noticing her mother coming out of the backstage area.

'How'd we do, Maman?' she asked, batting her eyes innocently.

Mrs. Giry shook her head at her daughter's antics. She had long since given up on berating Meg's use of American terms and pronunciations. It would do no good to fight such things as they were likely to be in this city for good. 'Well enough, dear. But I need you two to put all of the extra bottles back into the storage room before you go.'

Meg sighed and dragged herself over to the bar, accompanied by a giggling Christine. Meg walked round the bar and started placing the assigned bottles onto the smooth wood of the counter for Christine to take back to the store room.

Mrs. Giry gave the place a once over before nodding to herself. She caught Christine's eye as she passed. 'The door locks from the inside, so you two can go home as soon as you're finished. Don't dawdle, now,' she explained with one of her sharp glances at both. Despite her raven black hair and strong features, it was her eyes that made it clear she was Meg's mother. Christine had always rather enjoyed noting that similar feature, knowing that she herself had shared but one commonality with her own mother. She had her chin as her father had always lovingly noted, toying with it when she was a child. Bowing her head to the memories of her darling father, Christine hurried on into the store room. She came back out quickly to see Meg slumped tiredly on the bar, gazing at nothing in particular.

'Meg, you're exhausted, you go on home. I'll finish up here. All I have to do is put these in the back and then close the door, right?' Christine offered, amused that her ever energetic friend had finally run out of steam.

'Yeah, but are you sure? It's your first night and all. I feel bad about leaving you alone.' Meg tried to put some light back into her words, but she still came across as sleepy.

'It's fine.' Christine brushed off. 'Just be careful on the walk home,' she urged, remembering that they were in a city at night.

'I will, if you're sure,' she offered over her shoulder, while Christine pushed her towards the door playfully.

'Go home, Meg. It'll be fine,' she assured again. She watched her friend only partially begrudgingly leave the café and go out into the chilly night air.

Turning back to her work at hand, Christine hauled the rest of the bottles back past the stage to the second door in the hall, carefully balancing them to open the door. Once everything was stacked and accounted for, she shut the door with a contented sigh of a job finished.

She was just turning to go when she heard something like a whisper coming from down the hall. She felt a chill run up her spine instantly as she realised she was now alone in the café, everyone else having gone home a while ago and having just shoved Meg out the door. Her fight-or-flight instincts were quickly envisioning her path back to the front door for her escape, but something in her urged her towards the mysterious noise.

'H-hello?' she called, hating the tremble in her voice. 'Is someone there? We're closed.' She tried to be firm, but she knew she still sounded scared.

Only silence came from the end of the hall and she was about think herself going paranoid for hearing things when there came a rising swell of…music?

Cocking her head, she followed the sound to the last door in the hall, being the one to the unused dressing room turned extra storage room. It sounded like violin music and she began to wonder if someone had accidentally left a record on.

Coming to the door, she sucked in a sturdy breath before grasping the knob and turning it. The door swung open easily but with a slight squeak. Reaching into the blind darkness of the room, she fumbled her hand on the wall, hoping for a light switch.

Finding it at last, she blinked a bit as sharp light invaded the room, showing several curtain rods with rolled up fabric laying against a corner, a few boxes of stage lights scattered nearby, and a forgotten vanity table with a cracked mirror and dusty bottles lining the table. There was a small sofa and a chair was filled with a box of light bulbs and there were a few extra, unmarked boxes piled about. What drew her attention most, however, was the tall, full length mirror on the wall opposite the door. It was uncovered and surprisingly clean given the state of the other one. She could see her reflection plainly as well as the fear written across her face at the realisation that there was no record player in the room, and yet the music continued to fill the space.

She was caught between questioning her own sanity and just bolting for the door when the music suddenly stopped. She remained frozen in place for reasons she would never know, and simply stared at her paled reflection. The silence of the final note hung ringing in space only to be disturbed by a whisper-like tone.

 _'_ _Good evening, Mademoiselle.'_

The voice came from everything and nothing. It seemed to swirl in the air about her without actually belonging to any solid form. It was like listening to a lullaby speak. To hear in that veil just before sleep overtakes you where all the world ceases to exist beyond you and the promise of dreams.

 _'_ _Forgive me my boldness, but I simply had to compliment you on your singing earlier. I was quite entranced,'_ It soothed easily through her ears.

'Y-you heard me?' she stuttered, somehow managing to find the propriety to blush slightly.

 _'_ _I did.'_

Perhaps it was the delusion she was obviously suffering from, but she could have sworn she heard a smile in that voice.

 _'_ _And,'_ It added softly. _'If you should feel so inclined, I would like to teach you.'_

'Teach me?' she asked, somehow lost in the haze the voice left her in.

It hummed It's agreement, making her legs feel a little weak. _'I believe I may be able to assist your voice to soar even closer to Heaven. If you wish it, of course.'_

Christine could not help the smile that flickered its way across her lips. She tried very hard to suppress the laugh that started bubbling uncontrollably through her throat and out into the air. The air which seemed to somehow grow hard. Covering her mouth, she looked alarmed at her reflection.

'Pardon, Monsieur, but you must understand that this is rather…odd. I do not even know you and yet you offer me singing lessons upon hearing me chime in with the radio today. You have to admit that this is a bit strange,' she explained.

 _'_ _Yes, I…suppose it is.'_

She cocked her head again as the voice sounded oddly unsure of Itself. Before, It had been complete mysteriousness, but now It seemed deflated.

'May I at least know who is offering such generous tutelage?' she asked, smiling softly at the suddenly human quality the voice had taken on.

There was a long pause in which Christine began to wonder if It would reply. She was just about to call out to It, when the air about her seemed to buzz again, suggesting It's returned presence.

 _'_ _You may know that it is someone to watch over you.'_

Christine could not help the smile that came to her lips when It partially sang along to the line of her earlier song. 'Very well.' She sighed, looking at the mirror with clever scrutiny. 'May I—' She stopped, thinking how ridiculous she was being at talking to someone she could not even see. 'May I have some time to think over your offer?'

There was another lengthy pause, but this time she waited more patiently. She gazed about the room, eyeing the ceiling and walls for any sign of her mysterious teacher-to-be.

 _'_ _Come to this room tomorrow night if you accept,'_ It said at last.

For whatever reason, Christine was beaming. She tried to school her excitement into the cold reasoning she needed and had originally intended when asking in the first place.

'Thank you very much, Monsieur,' she said with a slight nod.

 _'_ _And you, Mademoiselle.'_ She could practically hear the returning nod. _'Have a good night, Christine.'_ The last word turned into a whisper which sent chills up her spine. Whoever the voice was, It certainly knew how to lull the senses.

Christine felt like she was floating on air as she shut down the café and headed back to her apartment, but as soon as she laid in her bed, she knew she would accept the offer. Something about that voice called to her and pulled a small piece of her out that she did not even know she had. It was at once thrilling and soothing.

 **A/N:** ** _Someone to Watch over Me_** **, 1926. Composed by George Gershwin, lyrics by Ira Gershwin for** ** _Oh, Kay!_**

 **I would recommend looking up the Linda Ronstadt versions of these songs. She did three albums of jazz standards with the orchestra responsible for the Adam West** ** _Batman_** **theme song. I imagine Christine singing a bit more like Sierra Boggess, personally, but Linda has such a lovely tone and incredible range.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So, I know the "It's" vs "Its" thing got a little confusing, but given that for the moment it is a name, "It's" as a possessive works. Trust me, it gave me some trouble too. Thank you all for your support and kindness. I hope this chapter helps move things along and, if you celebrate it, Happy (early) Easter.**

The following day passed by in a blur of anxiety similar to the previous one. Christine was nervous for another reason, however, as she neared the end of the evening, after having endured another of Carlotta's near torturous performances. She was still feeling the tension and constant buzz of nerves when bustling about the tables, making sure to fuel the customers with their drinks, but mostly she was thinking of the offer she had received the night before.

She had woken up that morning thinking that it had all been some kind of dream or silly delusion, but upon seeing the Majestic again she began to wonder.

Now, as it neared closing time with Meg blabbering on about something she did not bother to hear, Christine was busy pondering what her answer should be to the mysterious voice which lurked in the unused dressing room. She knew it sounded completely insane to even be considering an offer to stay in that room, listening to a disembodied voice at night, alone, and thinking she was anything but completely insane. And yet…something about it seemed so warm and familiar. She knew she had never heard it before in her life, but it just sent a calmness through her she had not experienced since being embraced in her loving father's arms. That violin music she had heard reminded her so very much of her father's playing that she was amazed she had been able to abate the tears which usually accompanied such vivid remembrance. And when the voice had sounded so unsure, she felt like it suddenly had belonged simply to a child, needing the comfort she herself had long been without.

'Christine!' Meg snapped her out of her reverie.

'Hmm? Yes?' Christine blinked, looking at her friend with blank confusion.

'Have you even been listening to a word I have said?' Meg asked, putting her hands on her hips sternly.

Christine looked at her guiltily, proving Meg's suspicion with a single glance. 'I'm sorry,' she mumbled quietly.

Meg sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'Honestly, sometimes I wonder who the older one is,' she muttered under her breath. 'Are you sure you don't want to be the one to go home first tonight?' She looked at her friend, puzzled. She had been surprised by Christine's sudden offer to close up again tonight.

'Yeah, just think of it as thanks for getting me this job in the first place,' she covered, trying not to seem suspicious.

Meg rolled her eyes, doubting the reason. 'You know, if we didn't work so late, I would be dragging you kicking and screaming somewhere to finally get you a guy,' Meg told her, shaking her head as she went to collect her purse.

'Meg, it's only my third day here. I think we can wait on finding me a man.' She smiled at her friend's persistence. Meg had often insisted that Christine would grow up to be some old maid who would own half of Manhattan's cats and constantly assure the world she was not lonely but simply waiting for the right guy to come along.

'Good looking men don't just drop out of the sky, Christine,' Meg told her from the door.

Christine shook her head at her friend as she disappeared into the chilly night. Ever since they had seen a band of military officials back in Paris, the little blonde had been obsessed with men in uniform.

Still laughing from the memory of the silly expressions Meg had made upon seeing those poor, unsuspecting men and all others to follow, Christine made her way back into the storage room area behind the stage. It was only once she had closed the liquor room door that she felt the chill of her decision racing about her now raised flesh and tingling in her spine. She walked down the hall with unsure steps to the final door, holding her hand up as if to knock. Thinking this rather ridiculous, she compromised to simply open it slowly, letting it creak ominously to alert anyone who might be lurking that she was coming in. Fumbling for the light switch, she flicked it on to see the room much as it had been the day before. The dust still settled upon everything but the tall mirror across from her.

Feeling bold, she closed the door most of the way and walked into the room, looking about her nervously for any physical sign of her potential teacher.

'Hello?' She schooled her voice to cut out the tremor which threatened it much like the night before.

 _'_ _Good evening, Mademoiselle,'_ came the now familiar whispering lull of the voice, filling the small room.

Christine found herself smiling at It's reappearance. 'Good evening, Monsieur. I have decided to come for lessons,' she announced almost proudly, feeling childish in her prideful bravery.

 _'_ _So I see,'_ came the almost smiling reply.

'Do you?' she asked, furrowing her brow in confusion. Realising the silliness of her words, she clapped a hand over her mouth before melting into apology. 'I'm sorry. It's simply that I cannot see you, so I assumed…I don't know what I assumed, really.' She shook her head to clear her ridiculousness.

 _'_ _Does this bother you?'_

The voice held no real inflection, so she could not determine It's mood. 'No, not particularly. Though, I must admit it seems like I'm going insane, talking to a disembodied voice,' she told It, ducking her head a bit in modesty and disappointment.

 _'_ _I assure you, Mademoiselle, I am perfectly real. You have no need to question your mental faculties,'_ It explained.

Christine hummed thoughtfully at this. 'Why can I not see you, then?'

Silence pervaded in the room, making Christine wonder if she would receive another word from her mysterious friend. She waited patiently for a reply, but when none came, she began to worry.

'Monsieur? Oh, Monsieur, please! Don't go! I'm sorry if I offended you! I did not mean it. You just have to understand how strange this is to be by myself in a place, at night, and hearing voices in an empty room.'

 _'_ _I thought you had come to a decision on all of this,'_ It finally said, showing a bit of harsh betrayal in its tone.

'I had, but it just came rushing back. I'm so sorry. Please, if you are still willing, teach me. I promise not to try to bother you with silly questions,' she told It, nearly sinking to her knees as she brought her hands up in a gesture of supplication.

Another pause hung in the air as she waited for the reply she hoped would come.

 _'_ _Very well,'_ It answered tersely.

And thus began her first lessons, taking her through the basics of technique, stubbornly fixing her bad habits of rounding her shoulders in, dipping her chin for low notes, or not breathing deeply enough. Through it all the voice remained fairly patient, but also strict and not gifting her with a single compliment beyond the acknowledgement of her doing something correctly. All the while, Christine kept her word in not asking too many little questions beyond "how are you" or the once bold "where are you from" when It mentioned something about a French opera It wanted her to consider studying.

The question had taken It by surprise, making It pause a bit to consider what all It wished to reveal to her.

 _'_ _I am from Paris,'_ It answered at last.

'Oh, I went there,' she informed with a broad smile. 'I stayed there for quite a while after…' She trailed off, looking down with a suddenly solemn expression. Silence hung heavily in the air as she remained in her thoughts. It did not wish to disturb her, but It was too concerned for her to remain in such an obviously dark place.

 _'_ _Christine?'_

She looked up at It's rare use of her name. Generally It just called her "Mademoiselle".

'I'm sorry,' she said hurriedly, shaking her head. 'It really shouldn't affect me so. Not after all this time.'

 _'_ _It is all right if there is something you do not wish to discuss with me.'_

'No, I should be used to this by now. Besides, you need to understand why I accepted your offer so readily,' she explained.

It tried to hide a sigh, realising that their lesson was over in place of her telling It about her life. It did not mind so much, simply fearing the tables would turn once the tale was told.

'I was born in a town not far from Uppsala, Sweden. My mother died a few months after my birth, so my father was left on his own to care for me.' She melted into a smile at this, obviously remembering better times. 'He took me with him as he travelled the country playing the violin and making whatever money he could. I did not have much growing up, but it was enough and Papa always found a way to smile for me even after the hardest of days. We went everywhere, finally making it into France where we met the Girys. I was older by this point, but still only just reaching thirteen when he fell ill. We cared for him as best we could, but there was simply nothing we could do.' She looked away again, a tear threatening behind her eye. 'I sat with him the whole night, telling him the stories he had told me all my life. I sang for him as I always had until he finally drifted off, holding my hand.' She looked up at the ceiling, showing the tears now hanging off her lashes and the sobs catching in her throat. She took a moment to better compose herself before continuing. 'I lived with Meg and her mother, both of whom acting as my family until they moved here three years ago. As I am sure you know, they secured a job for me and helped me to come over to be with them again. I owe both of them so much for looking out for me.' She smiled through her earlier emotions, laughing a bit in embarrassment as she wiped away the salty trails on her cheeks.

Once more the silence reigned in the room, but she did not fear she was alone this time. She let it stretch on for a bit, allowing it to act as a curtain for hiding her still close to the surface emotions.

'You know, it's rather silly how I think back to certain moments in my childhood without even realising.' She could practically feel the cock of a head and brow furrow of confusion coming from her teacher. 'When I first heard you, I immediately thought my father had made good on his last promise. I realise now how childish that would be.'

 _'_ _What was the promise?'_

She smiled at the memory somehow, surprising It in her sudden cheeriness. 'There was this story Papa would tell me—my favourite one, actually—about the Angel of Music. It was supposed to find those with musical talent and help them to rise to greater success and glory. Papa said that when he died and was sent to Heaven, he would make sure that the Angel of Music found me to help with my voice so that I might aspire to be the great singer he always knew I could be.'

 _'_ _And you thought I was this…Angel?'_ It asked in complete disbelief but also with a grain of caution.

'Silly, isn't it? It's just that when I heard your voice and you offered to help me, all I could think of was that story.' She shrugged, hiding a bit in her luscious curls.

 _'_ _Not at all,'_ It quickly assured. _'I am truly flattered you would think me one of the heavenly hosts.'_

'Oh, please don't laugh at me, Monsieur,' she begged, looking as though she were about to cry again.

 _'_ _I would never dream of doing such a thing,'_ It told her with complete sincerity ringing in its voice. _'Never in my life has someone thought of me as being some kind of gift. I am honoured you considered me as much, even if it was fleeting.'_

'Oh, but you are a gift. I truly value your lessons and all you are willing to do to help me. I may never find the greatness my father intended for me, but having this has made me feel like I have at least tried to honour his last wish. I thank you for it, Monsieur. Truly, I do,' she insisted, walking towards the mirror, which she had long taken as the assumed spot of his presence.

 _'_ _You are welcome, Christine.'_ It watched her smile warmly at It's use of her proper name. She seemed to glow when It said it. Having just bared her soul to It, It assumed this would be a proper time to gain such a happy glance. _'You may go home now, Christine. It is late and I do not wish to weary you before tomorrow. We shall work more next evening.'_

It could not tell if It was happy that she looked somewhat disappointed by It's postponement of her lesson, but judging by the yawn she proceeded to stifle, it was for the best.

'I shall see you on the morrow, then.'

 _'_ _Have a good evening, Christine.'_

'And you as well…Angel.' She threw one last smile over her shoulder as she flicked off the light and left the room.

It could hardly contain It's racing heart as she said this. It finally remembered to breathe after what seemed an eternity before turning to go back to It's home. Something about this girl set It on edge and spinning. It could not determine whether this was a good thing or not, but It could not find the strength to consider it completely bad.


	5. Chapter 5

New York, April 24, 1943

Christine had fallen quickly into the pattern of her days here in New York. The bustle of the city no longer kept her up at night, the polluted air from the cabs no longer stung her nose, and the horrid music Carlotta spouted no longer grated on her as sharply. She had better things to think about and listen to as time passed. She had her lessons to look forward to every night and the soft lull of her teacher's voice. Though he remained unseen, they had grown to understand each other's moods quite easily. She remembered one evening when he was fuming over something the managers had done that day, and she knew just how to handle it.

'What's wrong, my Angel?' she asked, having felt his heated fury through the walls she now assumed he concealed himself in. This name for him always managed to put a softer edge to his voice.

 _'_ _Those damned fools don't know what they are doing!'_ he fumed.

She found this rather amusing, but also idly wondered when she had started considering her tutor a "he" instead of "it". The voice was obviously a male's silky tenor, but she had come lately to wonder what the rest of him would be like. Would he have blue eyes or brown? Would he be tall or short? What would his face be like? She imagined that with a voice as wonderful as that, surely he must have a face to match.

'What have they done this time?' she asked, trying to shake away her distracting thoughts.

A strained sigh of frustration followed, accompanied by a muttered, _'What_ haven't _they done is more like it.'_ He was softening already. She could not help the smile that came with his obvious notice to her use of his special name. _'They would not know talent if it came up and slapped them senseless.'_

'So you have often said.' She crossed her arms, leaning on the open door frame and rolling her eyes at his theatrics. She had honestly thought it would be something more important than his age old battle with Mr. Andrews and Mr. Firmin.

He paused a moment, probably noting her bemused smile, before continuing in a somewhat resigned tone. _'I apologise if my outburst bothered you, Mademoiselle.'_

'Not at all. I am used to them.' She actually grinned at his attempt at penitence. He thought his heart would burst from her patient behaviour.

And so this was the way their relationship continued. He would come in with petty grievances about the management and she would occasionally be in a foul temper from too little sleep. When it came to her being in a poor mood, he would be the one who smoothed things over.

 _'_ _My dear, what has you so out of sorts?'_ She had hardly minded when he started calling her this. She supposed the lonely part of her that actually wished to take up Meg's constant offerings of finding her a companion was responsible for the indifference to the breach of etiquette.

'Oh, nothing. I'm just tired.' This time it was her turn to grumble.

 _'_ _Are you not getting enough sleep?'_ He immediately began to wonder if their late night lessons were becoming too much of a strain upon her. He would hate to have to cut them short, and nothing in Heaven or on Earth would make him stop, but he would have to do something if it was becoming too much for her.

'I doubt it. I think it is mostly my other job,' she said, looking angrily at a corner.

He stopped. His breath, his heart, all of it just stopped. _'Other job?'_ he finally questioned.

'Yes. New York is not inexpensive, you know, and bussing tables is hardly enough to pay rent. I would offer to have Meg move in with me to help, but I don't have enough space for another bed. Besides, she lives with her mother and their combined income works for them,' she explained somewhat haphazardly. Her mind felt hot and fuzzy tonight from her less than pleasing day.

 _'_ _Have you not asked for a raise?'_ He knew damn well that his generally soft-spoken Christine would never do something so daring. He was the only one besides the young Ms. Giry to whom she would open up.

'Why bother? I know I would not get it. I am meant to live off tips like Meg, only I am not so pleasing as she is. It's all right, though. She has worked here longer, and working the register at the bookstore is not so bad,' she shrugged.

He felt his heart drop and clench simultaneously. He had noticed she came in to work right on the dot these past few weeks rather than her common slightly early arrival, and knew that something was out of the ordinary. He was honestly glad it was not the cause he had suspected. Though he would never curse solitude upon another, he felt his blood boil at the idea of a man putting his arm around her shoulder or smiling at her lovingly.

 _'_ _Christine, if you would like, I could speak with the managers about your pay.'_ He spoke gentler than even he had expected. His voice almost giving away the look of pure admiration that shone perpetually in his eyes when she was within view.

'No, no,' she assured him hurriedly. 'I appreciate it, but I am fine, really,' she told him, smiling delicately at his soft tone. She ducked her head to hide the slight flush his kindness had inspired.

 _'_ _All right. If you are certain,'_ he begrudgingly submitted.

'I am. Thank you.' She snuck a look up towards the mirror through her lashes. He had felt his heart twist almost every night he saw her. She could do the most breath-taking things without even trying. He was afraid to know what it would look like to see her try to win someone's heart. Jealousy leapt within him at the thought of her trying to charm someone. No, someone _else_. He groaned inwardly to think he had become so possessive of her in such a short time. But, he supposed, if four years of nightly lessons with this woman were not enough for him to fall for her, then nothing would be.

This was how they functioned indeed for four years. He watched her grow from the timid girl into the more confident, open, and incomparably kind woman he saw before him. He wondered if she had always been so and it was merely his time with her revealing it rather than an actual change on her behalf. Either way, he knew he could not keep his darling Angel hidden forever. It was beyond time for her to let her voice soar as it long should have. He would give her all he could never bring for himself. He would give her the recognition their mutually achieved gift deserved.

* * *

It was on the following, calmly windy spring day that Christine truly was given the chance to think about the mystery Meg insisted plagued the café. Stories of the Phantom had become rarer in the first two years, but recurrences of odd mischief kept the tale alive in the younger girl's mind.

'Did you hear what happened last night?' Meg asked, practically assaulting Christine the minute she walked through the door of the café.

'Meg! Give a girl a chance to breathe, would you?' Christine scolded with false aggravation. She pushed past her friend, failing to hide her smile at the girl's antics. Despite the difference in age, Christine had long held that Meg had ceased maturing at sixteen.

After saying her daily greeting to Mrs. Giry and setting her purse next to Meg's, Christine turned back to her friend. She was somewhat envious of Meg's ability to keep up with the latest styles in clothing as she had been forced to wear many of the same clothes she had brought with her from Paris. Many of them were starting to look a little worn in places, but she could not bring herself to impede Meg's kindness when the stylish woman had offered some of her own clothing. Christine resigned herself to wait for the day she was beginning to wonder would ever come when she could live more comfortably. Perhaps she had been wrong to deny her teacher's offer of better pay, but her suspicions as to his character were enough to make her abstain from the temptation.

'Yes, what is it, Meg?' she asked the pretty blonde in her soft blue dress that hugged her curves while somehow remaining modest.

'The Phantom has threatened again!' Meg all but cheered.

Christine rolled her eyes. 'What, has he stolen another bottle of whiskey? Or tipped over a chair?' she asked incredulously.

'No.' Meg almost pouted at her friend's lack of enthusiasm over the excitement she so plainly found in the news. 'He has sent a letter to the managers!' She squealed a bit, feeling the chill of thrill run up her arms.

Christine continued her deadpan look.

Meg shook her head at her friend's lack of faith in her important gossip telling skills. 'He has requested that the managers find a new singer. I think he has finally had enough of Carlotta's squawking.'

Christine could not help but pale at this. She had long held her suspicions as to whom the Phantom was, but now it was almost certain. She feared her conversation as to her employment may have inspired something less than desirable in her often moody tutor.

'Christine? Are you all right?' Meg asked curiously. She had expected something beside her friend's obvious fear at her words.

'Hmm? Oh, I am fine. So, what have the managers to say about this?' she asked, growing only more concerned by the potential threats the Phantom always made should his written demands not be met.

'I'm not sure. They have yet to announce it to anyone, but something tells me they intend to disregard it,' she said almost gravely as she looked to the office door warily. 'Mother told me about it as she happened to be the one to deliver it to them.'

Meg grew concerned as she watched Christine's eyes grow distant again. She had not anticipated her friend behaving so. She had wanted to make her smile at the thought of not having to listen to Carlotta anymore, but instead she had made her aloof and anxious. Meg wondered if this was what her mother had warned her of when talking about the Phantom. Mrs. Giry had been rather cryptic when Meg had addressed her about Christine's constant assurance that she would close the café each night.

'Do not push her upon the subject, Margaret. There is a benefit to her staying a bit later, I assure you,' Mrs. Giry, the patronising mother to them both, had said in her tone of suggesting the topic be closed for discussion.

'All right. But I worry about her, Maman. She spends so much time on her own. You know Christine, she won't make friends easily unless someone forces her out into the world,' Meg partially protested.

'I know, but I do not think it your job to do so. When she is ready, she shall branch out. For right now, however, I want you to make her feel happy and at home. Make her comfortable here and she will be more eager to visit new places.'

'Yes, Maman.' Meg had begrudgingly admitted defeat. She would of course do anything in her power to make her dearest friend feel like she had a home again. Christine deserved a place to belong more than anyone. After the death of Gustave Daaé, she knew Christine had felt lost. Perhaps this staying at the café late was her way of coping. Maybe she just needed time to herself before opening up. Meg certainly hoped so.

The rest of that afternoon of cleaning passed normally with very little in the way of chatter, much to Meg's dismay. If anything, she felt her friend closing up more since her late nights. She knew Christine had taken on another job that was clearly wearing on her, though how working in a bookstore could tire her out so, she did not know. Perhaps it was the stress of the city. She vowed then to offer her friend a night on the town this week. She would find a nice boy to set her beautiful brunette friend up with and just let the evening run its course.

She was partially interrupted in this planning when the managers walked in with a fairly irate Carlotta in tow.

'What do you mean you got another letter?!' the shrill redhead shrieked.

'Please, Ms. Guidicelli, do not concern yourself. I am certain nothing untoward is going to happen,' Mr. Firmin assured.

'That is what you always say! Need I remind you of what happened the last time you did not listen to one of those silly letters?' she somehow bellowed with her high-pitched voice. 'The mirror in my dressing room shattered along with all of my perfume bottles!'

Christine felt her stomach drop, thinking of the faint smell of the dressing room she sang in along with the cracked mirror on the vanity.

'Ms. Guidicelli, we promise nothing will happen,' Mr. Andrews told her with gruff certainty. 'Please, continue your prac—' He stopped short seeing the flaming look from the singer at the suggestion that she should practice what they often praised as perfection. 'Warm up. Nothing shall happen to you,' he continued, gaining a half accepting glare from the singer.

The managers watched her stomp off towards the stage, pitying the pianist they asked to come early to help her warm up before most night's performances. They both sighed in partial relief as she began her ridiculous crowing on stage. Mrs. Giry came up to them, making them jump at her seemingly sudden appearance from the darkness. With the café still closed, her dark dress and tightly pinned back black hair blended in with the shadows too easily.

'Are you certain that is wise, Messieurs?' she asked, slipping back into her French formalities.

'What choice do we have?' Mr. Firmin retorted, recovering from the mild shock.

'Besides, what could happen?' Mr. Andrews added.

As if on cue, they heard a crash and a scream from the stage, all eyes turning to see what the matter was. Just at the edge of the stage, mere inches from Carlotta's feet lay the shattered remains of the stage's small spotlight. Her face, now recovering from the shock, was growing redder by the minute.

'"Nothing will happen?"' she all but screamed at them. 'Why was I foolish enough to believe such idiots?'

'Ms. Guidicelli,' Mr. Andrews spoke first, having rushed forward with his fellow manager to see to the singer's health. 'Please understand that this was merely an accident.'

'"Accident"?!' she mocked like before. Christine was impressed to see that the singer's face somehow managed to get even redder in fury. Were it not for the frightening cause of this, she would have smirked with Meg over it.

'That is what you said the last time, and did you do anything to stop it? No! I was in here five minutes and already something has happened! Well, until you find a way to stop these "accidents", you had better find yourselves a new singer!' she yelled before stomping off stage.

Christine glanced over to Meg who was giving her a silent "well _that_ was dramatic" to which Christine replied with a shrug and eyebrow raise of uncertainty as to what to do next. The managers seemed frozen in place with shock at their prized singer's words and Mrs. Giry did not appear to be in the mood to help them any. It was only when Carlotta came back around and rushed out the door that they came to their senses, offering endearments and apologies too late to the already fled singer.

When the door closed with a resounding thump of a definite end to the subject of Carlotta performing that evening, the managers let out their deep groans.

'Now what are we going to do?' Mr. Firmin moaned woefully. 'We have lost our singer for the evening.'

'We cannot cancel tonight. We are nothing without a performer,' Mr. Andrews joined in.

'Suppose we do an evening of pure instrumental,' Mr. Firmin offered, though it was not entirely appealing.

'But our patrons expect more,' Mr. Andrews reasoned. He was all for saving money on a singer, but when the people come for a singer, they had best deliver. It was too easy with the war going on to lose customers to other bars around the city.

'Sirs,' Meg spoke up in a moment of boldness. 'Christine could sing tonight.'

All eyes turned instantly from Meg to Christine who was managing to simultaneously blush and pale at the attention. She wanted to glare at her presumptuous friend, but was too occupied by the managers' appraising stares to bother.

'Ms. Daaé? You could sing this evening?' Mr. Firmin asked doubtfully.

'I-I-Well, I—' she stuttered, not knowing what to say.

'She's a wonderful singer!' Meg jumped in for her stumbling friend, ignoring the angry looks she was getting in the back of her head for it. 'I promise she will not disappoint,' she assured with all confidence.

Christine was just thinking of how well she could potentially strangle Meg when the managers sighed heavily and waved her on. 'Very well, let us see what you are capable of,' Mr. Andrews said tiredly, feeling the need for a stiff drink taking him strongly. This day had started off so well until this whole Phantom business came into play. He joined Richard over at a table and waited with strained patience for Ms. Daaé to hopefully impress them as Ms. Giry had promised.

Christine felt like her stomach had dropped through the floor and like her legs were made of jelly as she walked back into the hall she knew so well. She scaled the stairs nervously, looking to the wary pianist in hopes he would give her some form of reassurance for what she was about to do. She needed a bit of hope right now. Instead, he drearily asked her what song she would be performing.

Making her choice of a slightly older song, she stood in the middle of the stage, now quickly cleared of the shattered light, to hear the accompanist begin to play. Taking her breath deeply as she had long been taught, she started, but something felt off in it.

 _He's a fool and don't I know it_

 _But a fool can have his charms,_

 _I'm in love and don' I show it_

 _Like a babe in arms._

She felt her fight-or-flight instincts kick in with the latter as she looked down at the stern faces of the managers. Mrs. Giry was encouraging enough in her way and Meg was simply beaming, but it all felt hollow. A sharp nod from the older Giry and she kept her ground to continue.

 _Love's the same old sad sensation._

 _Lately I've not a wink,_

 _Since this half-pint imitation_

 _Put me on the blink._

Christine felt useless. She knew she was failing, but she could not do anything to stop it. She wanted simply to run away and hide, maybe crying her eyes out into her pillow with unmitigated embarrassment. Then, she felt a buzzing in the air around her. She knew it well enough from her four years of lessons.

 _'_ _Sing for me, my dear. Sing for your Angel.'_

Hearing his soft voice in her ear, she managed to gain the strength to continue. She could feel his judgement hanging about her, but it did not worry her as much as comfort her. She had spent so much time trying to prove herself worthy of his teachings, and now she had the chance to demonstrate it to him. Holding her head up high, she let the music in her free to flow out among her avid listeners, but the words and melody were not destined for them. This was for him. A thank you of sorts which she knew only he and herself would understand. A whisper of gratitude spoken among friends in their own special language.

 _I'm wild again,_

 _Beguiled again._

 _A simpering, whimpering child again._

 _Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, am I._

 _Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep_

 _When love came and told me_

 _I shouldn't sleep._

 _Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, am I._

 _Lost my heart, but what of it?_

 _He is cold, I agree._

 _He can laugh, but I love it._

 _Although, the laugh's on me._

 _I'll sing to him_

 _Each spring to him,_

 _And long for the day when I'll cling to him._

 _Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, am I._

Putting even more power into her words, she let her soul reach out into the unknown in the hope of touching that of her teacher's. She gave it to him freely as he had given her life back to her spirit after so many years of black dismay.

 _I've sinned a lot,_

 _I'm mean a lot,_

 _But now I'm like sweet seventeen a lot._

 _Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, am I._

She finished her song, letting the last note hang gracefully in the air before drifting back to the solid Earth. She looked out to her audience, feeling the elation of her song beginning to fade to her earlier uncertainty. She still held her head tall, but her shoulders began to creep up and her hands clutched before her.

'Christine, that was amazing!' Meg squealed happily from her place behind the bar, cleaning rag forgotten when she had leaned her elbows on the wood to cup her face in her hands, smiling warmly.

'Ms. Giry is right. Ms. Daaé, you should have come to us ages ago! I have never heard anything quite like you before,' Mr. Firmin praised, coming out of his stunned stupor to join Meg in her excitement.

'Indeed! It would seem we have made quite the discovery, Richard,' Mr. Andrews added, turning to his partner with a broad smile. They instantly began talking of business and how best to enterprise upon their new singer, but Christine was hardly listening.

 _'_ _Brava, Mademoiselle. You shall excel this evening,'_ came the whispered voice in her ear. She could not help but smile at the grin she heard in his tone. She hoped he was smiling from pride and knowing that she had done it all for him. She knew that he was correct in his words. She could feel the buzz of excitement his encouragement brought to her.

'Come on, Christine,' Meg beckoned, waving to her from the edge of the stage. 'We need to find you something to wear tonight. No friend of mine is doing her first performance wearing ten year old clothes.

'They're only seven years old,' Christine corrected in a small voice.

'Come on!' Meg encouraged, pulling her friend down to stand beside her.

'What about work?' she persisted.

'You know as well as I do that it is always done hours before the guests start arriving.' Meg gave her a look to show her tenacity in her resolve.

Realising there was little to do to convince Meg of any other course of action, and noting the encouraging look from Mrs. Giry as the managers went to hole up in their office again, Christine relented. She may not have fully approved of the idea, but she knew better than to cross a Giry woman.

 **A/N:** ** _Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered_** **, 1940. Written by Lorenz Hart, Composed by Richard Rogers for** ** _Pal Joey._**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Little bit of excitement for you all, I plan on upping most posting schedule to Mondays and Fridays. You will only have to wait through the weekend for your next chapter! *Kermit flail* Yay! I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you all think of this chapter!**

Christine walked into the living area of her apartment, standing cautiously at the threshold of her kitchen that spread back into her bedroom with adjoining bathroom. She looked at Meg who had turned in the midnight green wingback to await her friend's reappearance eagerly. She gasped dramatically as the lovely brunette came out in her new dress. Meg had taken special pride in picking it out for her friend as an early birthday present and now got to see her wear it.

Christine hid her blushing cheeks in her hair. 'How do I look?' she asked, bracing for the million things she felt to be wrong in her appearance.

'Like a movie star!' Meg gushed.

The dress was fairly simple, but in the most stunning alizarin crimson one had ever seen. The sleeves were simple caps over her porcelain shoulders with a wide but shallow scoop-neck. There was a long bow at the centre of the neck and simple seams down the delicately form-fitting shirt that stopped just below the knee. Meg found herself grateful that Christine had matching shoes and lipstick for it to set off the green flare her eyes always had when she wore red. Meg had long envied the hazel eyes of her friend and how they would change to effortlessly complement anything she wore.

Tucking her shoulder blade length hair, now shining a soft chestnut amongst the red, behind her ear, Christine found herself in the odd position of actually thinking she was pretty. She generally did not bother to consider such things, as impressing anyone was not among her priorities, but she now realised the benefit of simply dressing up to feel worth the effort.

'Thank you,' she said with a smile, still hiding a bit.

'Now, come on, you have warm ups to do and I have to mentally prepare for hearing your angelic voice again,' Meg said, tugging her friend as they left the sparsely furnished room. Christine gave one last glance about, wondering when she would be able to afford something to make the room look less barren. She had a couple of bookshelves, but little else beyond the wingback and her small settee inhabited the room. One last tug from Meg and she was out and off to her exciting evening. Or, at least, she hoped it would be a good kind of excitement.

* * *

The afternoon passed in a blur as she warmed up and chatted with the band, trying terribly hard to hide her nervousness. They seemed to take some pity on her, never leaving her unaccompanied backstage while they set up and ran through the set list of that evening's songs. She tried her best to show them her gratitude in her every smile and the way she let her still worried eyes soften when they spoke about the most useless of things. It kept her mind off what she was about to do, and she knew she would be indebted to them for all eternity for helping ease her troubles.

Finally, when the buzzing in the café just beyond the stage had reached its peak, the bassist gave her a meaningful nod as they took to the stage. Christine was left with just a few moments to herself as the pianist announced Carlotta's absence and the replacement in the form of Ms. Christine Daaé. She heard her name and the clapping and she felt her mind go blank. Her heart had been thundering against her ribs for the past few minutes and she was once again wondering the best possible route for which to make her escape. Then she remembered how her teacher had encouraged her and the pure elation she had felt in singing just for him. With that in her mind and his voice ringing in her memory, she went up the stairs to the stage, cringing slightly from the shock of the new light that Joseph had situated arguably sturdily to the ceiling. If it fell again, it would land harmlessly at the base of the stage, he had assured. She tried not to think of such things as the crowd hushed. She was too filled with nerves to hear the dozen or so gasps at the sight of her shining in the light in all of her beauty. She missed the whispers of 'She's beautiful!' and 'Isn't she gorgeous?' and the one of 'Is that truly Christine Daaé?' This final one should have held more significance than the general wolves of the crowd eating up the sight of her, but she was too busy trying to remember which song they were performing first to hear such little murmurings.

As soon as the band behind her started up, she felt all of her nervousness wash away, for with it came the tiniest of whispers, coiling itself at the curls just hanging at her ear.

 _'_ _My Angel.'_

She felt its purr wrack through her and send electricity up her spine. Her wide eyes relaxed and grew almost hooded as she felt the music sweep her away. Swaying just slightly to it, she felt her voice rise up, just another of the instruments playing along to weave a spell of music onto the audience. She was truly an instrument first, yet putting just enough narrative to the words to make the audience a part of the melodious transportation.

Song after song dripped from the air and pooled softly and coolly in the ears and minds of all listening, growing warmer from the life she infused into her every word. Faces grew hot, legs restless, but most of all, hearts were stolen by the bewitching angel performing in the gentle yellow glow of the spotlight. A Carmen in red with the purity of a dove. Her voice the finest crystal imaginable, enticing a touch but too delicate and easy to shatter. It was enchanting and moving all at once.

Each song finished with the heavy silence of enraptured breathing and lovelorn stares. To touch this beauty would only tarnish her, but so tantalizing was her very being that all who beheld her were instantly resigned to admire from afar. To sit and hope that the angel would grace mere mortals with her presence and gentle feather light touch. All of this reigned when her last notes would hang shimmering in the air before they would dare deaden the atmosphere with their heavy applause. It seemed a sin to interrupt such a lovely incantation with the cacophony of human clapping, yet some offering must be given to show just how grateful all were for her grace.

The final song came and with it, the hearts yet ungiven, and a thousand times over the endearments that would never pass their lips.

 _I love you for sentimental reasons._

 _I hope you do believe me,_

 _I've given you my heart._

 _I love you and you alone were meant for me._

 _Please give your loving heart to me,_

 _And say we'll never part._

 _I think of you every morning,_

 _Dream of you every night._

 _Darling, I'm never lonely_

 _Whenever you're in sight._

 _I love you for sentimental reasons._

 _I hope you do believe me,_

 _I've given you my heart._

She let the last note hang before it was swept in with the finishing flourish of instrumental. She waited now, feeling reality come rushing back to her, as the audience slowly awoke from their enchantment. They erupted into thunderous applause as she bowed and gestured to her band with a gentle wave as she smiled gratefully back at them. Taking another bow with them, she exited the stage as the band congratulated her, muttering hopes of her staying in place of Carlotta for good, and then slowly making their way out to the bar. Christine hung back. She wanted to feel the warm embrace of her teacher's voice about her.

'Did I do well? I sang for you, Angel. I gave you my soul tonight just as I did this afternoon,' she whispered into the dark corners of the hall, looking about foolishly for any sign of his approval.

She heard a faint knocking coming from the dressing room and quickly followed, eager to hear how she had done. She had just reached out to the gold door knob when her progress was halted by a voice from the other end of the hall.

'Christine?'

She turned, hiding a frown at the male voice not belonging her teacher. She felt an odd wash of disappointment and confusion at the idea of never being able to see her generous tutor. When had she started longing so desperately to see him? When had he ceased to be some disembodied voice she humoured with her time after work and turned into someone she wished to please? When had she started feeling not only shivers up her spine at his voice, but a clinching in her heart?

Knowing he was mostly likely the one who called himself the Phantom, she should be more afraid of him. He had nearly dropped a light fixture on Carlotta today, and for what? Had it truly been his doing, trying to scare off the singer and get her up instead? Or had it all been a silly coincidence? She shook these thoughts off, not wishing to complicate her still spinning mind. These were contemplations for another day. In the mean time she had an unknown man approaching, calling her name.

'Christine, is it really you?' the stranger in the hall asked. He wore a crisp naval uniform, but his unruly blonde curls and shining blue eyes spoke of a boyishness as yet untamed by military regulation.

'Sir, do I know you?' she asked, growing uneasy by the way he was looking at her. Then it hit her, the smile that spread lopsidedly across his bright face rang warmly in her memory. 'Raoul?' she asked, squinting to try to see the young boy from her youth in this handsomely built man.

'Little Lotte!' He beamed all the more, looking like a golden drop of sunlight personified. He came forward, stopping himself as he reached out to her. He had wanted nothing more than to lift her up and spin her above him as he had done with her when they were children, but he realised that she was not the little girl he had known. She was a woman now. 'It's been too long, Christine.' He smiled, proud to know he had boasted she would become the most beautiful woman alive, and had been right.

'Raoul, what are you doing here? I haven't seen you since I was nine! You have grown up so much!' She smiled, taking his hands and holding them out to demonstrate how mature his build had become. 'And a sailor no less.' She quirked an eyebrow at him.

He looked down, laughing uncertainly.

'Here, come with me so we can talk,' she said, opening the door to the dressing room without thinking.

His eyes widened as he surveyed the room. Christine hurried to clear the chair at the vanity and the small couch.

'Is this where they tuck you away?' he asked, mirth skipping in his voice.

'Oh, no. I just come here to…' She trailed off, realising her mistake. She had come here to meet her teacher, but had instead brought in Raoul. Something told her this night would not end as well as she had hoped.

'You were wonderful tonight, Christine. I have never heard anyone sing so wonderfully as you,' he praised, taking a seat next to her on the couch, though she had intended for him to sit on the vanity chair. She supposed it was her fault for choosing the wrong spot. He took up her hands and looked into her eyes with a penetration that took her breath away. Try as she might, however, she could not ignore his gaze.

'Of course,' he continued. 'I always knew you sounded like an angel when you sang with your father.'

At the mention of her father, she looked away, fighting the tension that had grasped her throat.

'Christine, what's wrong?' he asked, worry pinching his gentle brows together.

'My father is dead, Raoul,' she told him solemnly. She watched his mouth gape open with a sea of apologies washing into his eyes. 'He had tuberculosis and finally succumbed about twelve years ago in Paris.' She could not manage to look at his saddened eyes. She had heard enough condolences through the years. At first she had resented them as they would do nothing to bring him back, but now they were just sad reminders through forced kindness.

'I am so sorry. He was a truly great man. I know he would be proud of the lovely woman you have become, Christine. I'm sure he would be glad you have been able to use your talents so wonderfully,' he told her earnestly.

Something in his voice surprised her. It did not possess the general blandness of offering sympathies because it was polite, but instead with the warmth of true sorrow for her loss. He had known her father and could honestly say such things. For the first time, she felt that perhaps her father _was_ proud of her; that somewhere up in Heaven he was smiling down upon his daughter as he watched over her with her mother.

'Thank you, Raoul,' she all but whispered, feeling a softness come into her eyes. Stifling back the tears that threatened, she put on a smile.

'So,' she started brightly. 'What have you been up to since Perros-Guirec? And what brings you to New York?'

'The war, unfortunately.' For the first time since she had known him, she watched the ever bright Raoul darken. 'I came to America about three years ago, just when the Nazis took Paris.' Both their faces dimmed slightly at the remembrance of the dark day when the beloved city fell into the hands of the German monstrosities. 'I joined the navy shortly thereafter and have been moved along the coast in hopes that this country would finally realise that they are needed. This war cannot be ignored any longer. In fact, I am set to ship off in just a few weeks. I will finally get to make a difference in this war.'

Christine watched the boy she had known vanish with the dismay of the war's poisonous hand laying across the world, then return with a vibrancy she had never seen before. It was frightening to her. It looked like a child playing soldier but with all of the passion of a man.

'Raoul, do you truly wish to fight?' she asked, growing concerned by the man she was seeing before her.

'Of course.' He brightened back into his innocence, only half quelling her fears. 'I want to make a difference in this world. People are dying and someone has to be there to fight for them.' He looked like he should be playing with his tin soldiers as he looked determinedly into the distance.

Christine could not help the amused giggle that escaped her. 'I see you have not changed.' She laughed at his somewhat injured expression. 'You are still the knight in shining armour racing off to slay dragons and win the fair maiden.' She smiled warmly and sweetly at him as he puffed out his chest in jest.

'And you, my lovely Lotte,' he took her hand and bowed his head to kiss her knuckles gently, 'are still the fair angel who has stolen my heart,' he told her with silly theatrics.

They both laughed at this, feeling the reminiscent swirl of sunny days and ocean waves from their childhood. They felt the years start to melt away as the current time drifted into nothingness. The memories of long ago conversations filled their minds with long forgotten dreams and hopes.

'Christine,' Raoul looked at her with that penetrating gaze, but it felt much softer now. 'Come with me. I will take you out to dinner and we can make up for lost time,' he told her, rather than asked.

Something in her snapped back into place as the world came rushing back. She remembered all that had happened and felt dread at what was looming in the shadowy distance snake up her spine.

'Oh, Raoul, I can't. My music teacher will be here soon and he—'

'But you already sang so beautifully tonight. Certainly he will not mind letting you go for one night to talk to an old friend. Or is he more than just a teacher to you?' he asked, his expression falling feet from its previous perch above the clouds.

'No. I-he means a lot to me, but he's not—'

'Then come with me!' Raoul announced, standing and cutting her off for the second time. Christine found herself annoyingly at the bottom of the conversation again as she usually was. It was only with her Angel that she felt as though there was such a thing as common ground. She was just too timid around other people.

'Here, let me go pay my tab and I'll come take you around the town, show you New York like you've never seen it before. I could even let you meet some of my friends.' He paused at this, seeming to think it over. 'On second thought, better wait for another time on those guys. They take some getting used to. Just let me go pay for my drink and I'll be back to take you out.' He winked at her as he rushed out the door, eager to fill their night with laughter and joy as so many days in that past summer in Perros-Guirec had been.

'Raoul, wait!' she called after him, but she knew he was too far gone down the hall to hear her.

Slumping into the couch, she put her head in her hands, trying to calm the many emotions she had been subjected to this night and to keep them from warring inside of her. How had she let this all get so far out of hand? She knew she should be happy to finally have a date, and Raoul was far from a displeasing companion, but she knew her teacher would be less than excited to know she planned on playing hooky with her lesson. Yet, Raoul had been somewhat right, had she not worked hard enough tonight already? She could still feel her heart hammering in her chest at the memory of going up on that stage to sing in front of all those people. Perhaps a night of fun and laughs was just what she needed.

No sooner had she thought this, then the door to the dressing room clicked in the lock and the lights flickered out. She knew in an instant that she had made a mistake.

 **A/N:** ** _I Love You for Sentimental Reasons_** **, 1940 (published in 1945). Written by Ivory "Deek" Watson and William "Pat" Best.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for all of your lovely reviews. I am enjoying seeing how you all like this story. Today's Tumblr tid-bit is going to be extra special, so make sure to check it out. Just type in my penname and you should be able to find it quickly. Enjoy!**

The darkness filled every fibre of her being, swallowing her in its oppressive reign over all things within the room. Penetrating her lungs, it clung to the air as she breathed in her frightened gasps. She felt the frantic buzzing in her veins for escape pulling at her, but ignored it to sit, frozen in fear, upon the couch and simply wait out the inevitable. She was not sure what she was waiting for, but she felt a distinct jarring of propriety at her contemplations of moving. She did not wish to cause a stir in the invisible room of blackness. She waited for what felt like an age for the other shoe to fall upon her foolish head, but it waited until her wandering mind began to question if it ever would. Oh, it fell hard.

 _'_ _How dare he?! How dare that foolish boy try and claim what is mine?!'_

Christine had to cover her ears as the yell, though by no means sharp, split through the stilled air and cut into her very soul like a hot knife. It scorched her from the inside until she worried she would have scars forever burned into her. She held in her faint whimper of fear as she knew the harsh words would fall upon her before long.

 _'_ _After all I have done, and he sees fit to come in and take it from me! Such a damned fool he is to think that he can claim what he pleases! He shall know how it feels to be denied! That over privileged snot shall have to learn that not everything is his for the taking!'_

Christine could hold it in no longer. She let out a single hiccup from her balled up state on the couch and whimpered while flinching into the corner of the cushions. She awaited the harsh words to tear at her and carve her to nothingness. She waited for the painful oblivion to come out from the darkness and seize her. Would she even know when it had claimed her? In this complete darkness she may not even see the end coming. It may have already taken her and she was in Hell, tortured with the harsh tones so unlike her teacher. She had heard him angry before, but never this furious. She wondered how someone could switch from sounding like an angel to the devil so quickly.

The air softened around her as his eyes fell upon her pitiful form. His shoulders slumped and his heart dripped with sorrow to see his darling in such a frightened state; he felt a wretch for making her so scared. _He_ had done this to her because of his jealousy over that boy. Here she had sung out her soul for him and he had ruined her night. She was still so incredibly beautiful, even in her small and pitiable state.

 _'_ _Christine,'_ he cooed gently, letting in his dismay at bringing this out of her. He had worked so hard to make her strong again. He had done so much to bring her a voice and she had surprised even him with her sharp wit. It was with him that she showed her strength. It was _for_ him that she strove to be herself. _'Oh, my Angel. Please, do not cry. Oh, forgive me, my darling Christine. Forgive me.'_

'I'm sorry,' she wept, somehow finding breath enough in her hysterical sobs of fear. 'Please, do not be angry with me. I am sorry.' She dissolved again, making his heart break; the heart she alone had started beating upon her first appearance in his miserable life.

 _'_ _No, my sweet. Do not cry. I am the one who is sorry. I would never hurt you and could never be angry with you. Please, do not cry, my Christine.'_ He was begging it of her now, using his softest voice in hopes of coaxing her out of her shell of tears.

'Angel, I want you—I want to know you—to see you, but I am not worthy of it,' she wept, feeling the childish wants coursing through her. She missed her father and the security of his arms. She missed the smell of him as he wrapped her in a cocoon of safety and love. She wanted that again. She wanted to feel safe. She wanted to feel loved for who she was, even though she knew herself to be broken.

 _'_ _Then come to me.'_

She poked her head up at this. 'W-what?' she asked of the darkness.

 _'_ _Come to me,'_ he repeated.

'W-where…? How…?' She looked about in the darkness until she saw a soft glow emanating from the wall that held the long mirror. She saw the welcoming light of a lantern, feeling its promises of safety.

 _'_ _Come to me, Christine.'_

She heard the voice. It was becoming more sure and real as she stood up, as if in a daze, and made her way towards the light. She took cautious steps across the room, briefly stumbling over the corner of a box. She regained her balance quickly and continued on. Each step seemed to bring her heart closer to the warmth she had longed for. All she had wished for since her father had died was just within reach if she only followed the light.

She came to the wall and stopped, wondering how she was to find her angel with the glass in the way. That was when she felt the slightest brush of air come to her face. There was no mirror! It was gone and through it lay the uncertainty of continuing darkness apart from the soft light of the lantern beckoning with comfort.

She took another step forward, hoping to leave the dark loneliness of the dressing room for the warmth of the light, but tripped on the frame of the now missing mirror. She felt herself fall, the tightness of her heart at the fear of hitting the hard ground joining her earlier dread of the dark. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain, but it did not come. She crashed forward into a soft embrace. She felt something hard yet slightly warm come to her cheek as two wings of black fabric enveloped her. Her own arms wrapped around a narrow form, feeling it expand slightly as it sharply drew in a breath at her collision. She felt the initial instinct of pulling back disappear from her as she was granted the comfort she had longed so desperately for just moments ago.

She found herself nuzzling into the silky fabric at her cheek, enjoying the soft gasp emitted somewhere within. Pure emotion had drained her as she hung there for a few moments, vaguely aware of being pulled into the space behind where the mirror should have been. She nearly whimpered at the momentary absence of one of the hands which had come to rest oh-so delicately at her back, but this urge faded when the warmth was returned. She was faintly aware of a clicking sound as she felt the openness behind her close. The mirror must have been put back into place.

This realisation woke up her mind just enough to wonder what, or who as she was now finding to be a more accurate description, was holding her. She pulled back from her unintentional embrace to look up, but was met with only shadow. She could hardly see anything until her eyes adjusted to the very limited light coming from the partially snuffed out lantern hanging on a hook on the wall. Its gentle glow, no longer quite so comforting in this closed in space of blackness, glinted off of two orbs of matching yellow-gold. Puzzling over them, she realised that they were eyes. This sent her standing on her own again as it all came rushing to her.

 _'_ _Please, Christine. Do not be afraid.'_

It was the voice of her angel, but it was clearly coming from the form in front of her. She stepped back, feeling the cool glass behind her and letting its chill shock her mind back into more complete wakefulness.

'W-who are you?' she asked the black silhouette before her with the oddly glowing eyes.

 _'_ _Who I have always been, my dearest. I am your angel, your teacher, and your humble slave. I am anything you would have me be.'_

She watched in surprised horror as the shadow of a being bowed to her, letting his eyes be cast downward, shutting out that much more light in the dark space. Their disappearance scared her and she had to stop from lunging at him in hopes of the earlier security his arms had brought.

 _Oh God_ , she thought, _I have started making him human! But he had been human all along! What a fool I have been to think otherwise! I fell for such a silly trap of my childhood and now I am faced with a being more shadow than man_.

 _'_ _Please, my dear. Come with me. Let me explain…in better light.'_ He seemed to add the last piece having noted her still panicked eyes. He held out a hand to her, letting the lantern light show its gloved outline.

She seemed to regard him a moment, most likely weighing her options, before taking his proffered hand in assistance. She eyed him warily as he seemed to stiffen at her touch. She wondered why, as his was the hand that seemed unnaturally cold even through the leather glove he wore.

Slowly, he guided her down what appeared to be a hallway. He kept his eyes straight ahead as they journeyed on without the aid of the lantern, now completely extinguished. Christine had to hold on tightly to his hand to keep from running into anything. Eventually they reached the end of the hall which appeared to be of a similar length to the one on the other side of the dressing room. Her once angel pushed open a door concealed like the mirror, only this one much thicker in material than the comparably flimsy two-way glass in the dressing room. They entered into a small, square closet like space and he closed the door back. This closed just as the outer dressing room door burst open.

A rather anxious Raoul came in and looking about in a slight panic. He called out to his old childhood friend, but found the room to be empty of the songstress. He felt his stomach twist in fear as he fought away the thought that perhaps she had left. _No_ , he inwardly argued, _the door was locked from the inside_. He felt worry begin to gnaw at him at Christine's flight. He wondered somewhere in his flurried mind if perhaps her mysterious music teacher had something to do with all of this. She had mentioned she was supposed to meet him this evening, after all. Turning away from the empty and still darkened room, he resigned himself to waiting until tomorrow to seek out his lost friend.

* * *

Christine had been startled to find that with a sharp click, the small, square room she now found herself to be in shifted dangerously before sinking slowly. It was an elevator! Her mind tried not to swim with all of this new information and her guide seemed not to be in the mood to speak or explain any of it. Were she not so tired and lost she would find courage to demand he tell her what was happening, but she was simply too exhausted. She felt the ground even out as they came to a stop some seconds later. Opening the door once again, her guide stepped out into a new room.

Christine had to blink a bit as lights arrested her eyes and…God! What was that smell? She finally managed to look about her in confusion before realising she was in the midst of an indoor garden. Or, at least, that was what she had assumed as she looked about to see what must have been several hundred flowers in various arrangement about the rectangular room. It was lightly furnished, however, which contrasted in suggestion to the indoor greenhouse. There was a coat rack beside the elevator and a door just across leading to what appeared to be a kitchen. To the left, she observed that the room was done in a soft crème colour with a rich green carpet. A long settee faced a small fireplace somehow arranged just a bit away from the elevator wall. Two wingbacks, one in rich red with near black wood and one in soft blue, and matching wood flanked the fire with a coffee table dripping with lilies set between them. On the far wall to her left was another open doorway showing a hallway beyond.

Continuing her dazed exploration of the room, she turned to notice her would-be guide standing a ways away with his hands clasped behind his back. He had his head lowered slightly, but she felt his eyes watching her every move. He looked like he was expecting a reaction to his apparent home beneath the Majestic.

Her face must have given away some of the dizziness she felt for he was at her side mere moments before she could stumble.

 _'_ _Are you all right, my dear?'_ he asked with plain worry striking his voice.

She nodded drowsily, feeling a headache coming on. 'Just…too many flowers,' she explained as she tried to allow her senses to shut out the countless smells attacking her at once.

 _'_ _Oh,'_ was all he said, looking about uselessly and noting perhaps he had overdone it a bit in his eagerness to please her.

He started to guide her towards the light blue wingback but she dug in her heals and groaned in protest. He looked at her questioningly.

'Lilies give me headaches,' she explained, feeling somewhat guilty for the pained expression this news brought to his eyes. It was then that she realised all she could see of him were his eyes. Backing up out of his arms, she fell back onto the settee with shock writing itself across her face. She watched the wince come into his eyes as he turned away from her.

 _'_ _Ah, yes. I see we have come to that bridge now.'_ He sounded more like he was resigning himself to a fate than stating the somewhat obvious. _'I must ask you, my Christine, not to be alarmed. I promise you that no harm shall come to you while in my company.'_ He told her this over his shoulder as he lifted off the wide brimmed fedora she only now noticed he was wearing. Blame it on the overwhelming scent of every flower breed known to Manhattan, but she did not have the brain capacity to realise he was wearing not only the hat, which he carefully hung upon the coat rack by the elevator door, but also a long and sweeping black cloak.

She all but gasped as he elegantly hung this, revealing a figure as thin as a toothpick and angular as a modern skyscraper. He seemed to be all hard edges and bones as he towered to a well over six foot height. He made up for his harsh bodily angles with the grace of his every gesture. It was like watching poetry move in space. The way his long, bone-like fingers, now also shed of their coverings, smoothed back his perfectly slicked black hair that shone like a raven's feather. The simple act of turning slowly to face her seemed like a complex ballet.

All of this melted away, however, when he turned his face towards her. His face, if that was what one would consider it, was covered completely in black leather, moulded to the features of a human, but immovable to even the simplest of expressions. Christine felt her eyes widen and herself shrink into the cushions of the settee when this odd being looked upon her, his gold eyes shining out from the shadow of his mask. It was then that it fully hit her: he was a man. He was a man in a mask, whom she did not know, and who had stolen her away to his home underneath the café, most likely where no one would ever hear her screams for release. She wondered if anyone would look for her. Or, even if they did, if they would ever find the hidden passage behind the mirror. She would become one of those unsolved missing person cases that would gather dust for years before someone finally just threw the file away. She would be forgotten down here because this man, this _thing_ had taken her.

This spiralling swirl of despair brought hysterical breaths wracking through her. She clutched at the arm of the settee and tried to steady herself, but to no avail. Her dark clad abductor came to her in a rush so fluid she wondered if he were not made of pure water and air. He knelt at her feet, hovering his hands uselessly about her as his eyes pleaded her to tell him how to fix her.

'Christine! Christine, please, you have to breathe deeply, my dear,' he all but begged of her.

 _God_ , she thought, _his voice has become real. There is no more Angel or generous teacher! There is only this creature in the mask!_

'Christine, look at me!' he commanded with just enough of an edge to his tone to make her comply, despite the tears it brought to her eyes. 'You have to breathe, Christine. Remember how I taught you.' He held his hand in the air above her stomach. 'Breathe from here,' he told her in the tone he used when correcting her technique.

Straightening her posture, she started to slow her breath. She kept her eyes upon his, too afraid to look away, and finding some hidden measure of comfort when they began to calm at her recovery.

'There, now. That is better,' he said, though it seemed more to himself than to her.

Taking another clear breath, she let her trembling words out. 'W-who are you?' she asked again.

'Oh, Christine,' he seemed to sigh, his eyes filling with sadness as he beheld her. 'Please forgive me for all that I have done. For all that I am. Please, try to understand that I did it all for you.' He stopped, looking at her deeply but seeing only more fear at his failing to answer her properly. He looked down, taking just the tips of her fingers in his as he let another sigh drift in the air. 'I have been so cruel to you.' Finally he looked up again, but seeing her trembling bottom lip sent him over the edge. His tears welled up in his eyes before falling with the force of his sobbing words. 'I have lied to you, my darling Christine. You must forgive my deceit but I did it all for you! I am no Phantom, or Angel, I am simply Erik. I am but a man who has cared more for you since the moment you walked through the door than you will ever know. I…I love you, Christine.' He bowed his head as he sobbed, slowly sinking to the floor, letting her hands slip from his.

Christine looked down in horror as she beheld the tall and imposing man be reduced to a tearful, sobbing mess at her feet. She tried to wrack her brain around all he had said. She felt the idiot for merely suspecting instead of knowing her teacher was the Phantom. Her heart tinged with guilt, however, at the sorrow her desire for an angel had wrought upon this man. Had he truly cared so much for her that he would lie so completely to make her want to be around him?

She snapped back to the moment at hand when she heard the pitiful gasps of 'I'm sorry,' coming from the floor. She realised then that this would be her chance to escape. A swift kick would probably buy her time to reach the elevator and—

'Please forgive me, Christine.'

She could not. She simply could not bring herself to do something so cold.

Slipping down to the floor in front of him, she cautiously reached out a hand to his quivering shoulder. She almost pulled it away when he tensed at her contact. He acted as though he had been burned from her slightest touch. Quickly, however, he relaxed as his sobbing stopped. She sat there, not knowing what else to do, slowly soothing his shoulder and feeling the tight muscles just beneath his black suit relax gradually.

'Erik?'

His breath sharply caught at this. He had never in his wildest dreams expected his name to be uttered so beautifully by his angel. Daring himself to move slowly lest he frighten her, he raised his head to meet the drooping lids that now threatened to cover her round, hazel eyes.

'I feel very tired,' she said in an almost childlike voice.

He was not given enough time to come up with a response, unfortunately, as she then wobbled slightly and fell forward into his quickly reacting arms. He caught her deftly, sinking slightly with her to soften the impact against his arms and chest. He stared down at her in disbelief for what felt like years. Still, an eternity of her resting in his arms would not convince him it was real, or that she could look any more beautiful than she did at this moment.

After a time, though, he realised she would grow uncomfortable in this odd position, and the angle of her body would prove harmful to her if left too long. Shifting her carefully in his arms, he supported her back and caught her behind the knees as he stood as gracefully as he could. She was much lighter than he had anticipated as he walked into the hallway and strategically opened the door to what he had long thought to be her room.

Carefully laying her down upon the soft bed, he tucked the covers in after taking off her shoes. He supposed she would not appreciate his divesting her of her dress without permission, nor did he think he would be able to survive the ordeal. Giving her one last glance, savouring the slow rise and fall of her stomach from beneath the covers, he crept silently from the room. He would await his angel's awakening patiently and hope to find words with which to explain himself come morning.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Here we go! Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews. I adore seeing how people react to my work. You all are so nice on here and so very supportive. Thanks a million! And thanks to my bestie, Phanatic01. You are wonderful, as I have mentioned many times over. You prove that people can make great friends on the internet just by sharing a passion. I thank fate that you were analytical enough in your reviews of Swan Song to help us get to chatting and becoming friends. I hope your weekend is full of the warmth and sunshine you long for.**

Sunlight streamed in through the windows in a room she had long forgotten even possessed such views of the world outside. She blinked dazedly from the light, the soft warmth of its rays taking away some of the chill from her cheeks. Her hair shimmered in the luminance and her eyes twinkled like water rippling across a calm sea. She closed her eyes and breathed in the slightly sweet air about her, feeling complete peace surround her.

Looking out showed the city, her instantly proclaimed favourite city: Paris. The Eiffel Tower stood tall and elegant, the once eyesore of France now a national landmark and wonder of the world. She smiled at the soft blue of the sky, lightened with the gentle yellow of the morning sun. Not a cloud in sight and the state of the trees suggesting a lovely spring day blooming in the city below her. She was glad that the oppressive red curtains had been drawn away from the great glass portals and that where once was gloom and despair now shone happiness and life.

To her left, something caught her eye and took her breath away. She had to stare for only a fraction of a second before launching at her companion.

'Papa!'

She felt tears spring to her eyes instantly as she flung her arms around the gently chuckling man. She knew she was happy, but there was a hint of sorrow which tinged her heart at this meeting.

'My Little Lotte!' he cried, returning her embrace as delicately as if she were an antique rose. 'Ah, Christine, look at how you have grown, my little flower,' he cooed to her as she confusedly sobbed into him.

'Papa, why am I crying?' she asked, looking up at him with fearfully perplexed eyes, dribbling their salty drops down her smooth cheeks.

'Because you are dreaming.'

'Then why am I sad? You are here. I am supposed to be happy,' she argued determinedly.

Gustave Daaé let out a laugh. 'I see you have not lost any of your fire. But I fear you have lost your voice,' he said, eyeing her knowingly.

'I have not,' she told him firmly, stomping her foot.

This only made her father's eyes shine more with mirth. 'Perhaps not, but you hide it. You hide so much of yourself, my little bird.'

Christine looked down at her feet, shuffling them as she tried to find something better to say. 'I miss you,' she told him finally in a small voice.

'I know, Christine,' he told her, brushing her long curls out of her eyes and wiping away a tear with his thumb. 'But there is nothing wrong with being sad sometimes, or lost, or broken.'

'But I have to be strong. You would want me to be strong,' she insisted, looking at him in hopes he would deny it. Sometimes it was just too hard.

'I do, but I also want you to be yourself. There is nothing stronger than admitting you need help or that you are lonely. I know I left you in good hands which will not let you fall if you show weakness.'

Christine felt something tugging at her mind. She realised she had felt it before. This was a dream, and just like all the others she had had of her father, it was about to end.

'Papa, you lied when you said you would send me an Angel of Music,' she told him with tearful betrayal.

'I know, my darling, but it seems I did not need to. You found one all on your own,' he told her, starting to drift out of her grasp.

'But he is not an angel. He is a man and he frightens me,' she proclaimed, feeling lost without her father's calming touch to ground her.

'So does everything that is new or different, but you cannot let fear get in the way of change,' he said, getting farther and farther away.

'Papa!' she called out, reaching towards his shrinking form as the sunlit room stretched far away from her. She felt herself falling into black.

'Take care, and remember that I love you, Christine.'

Those were the words which echoed in her mind as she sat up with a start in bed. Looking about, she grew fearful again as she noticed not the simple, soft blue walls of her apartment bedroom, but ones of dusty rose and crème accents. Her bed was not the simple wire frame but a sturdy wood. Christine tried to calm her heart a bit, remembering vaguely her bout of hysterics the previous night.

Throwing back the cotton sheets and mint coloured comforter, she noted that her red dress from the performance was now wrinkled terribly from her sleep and her shoes were dutifully waiting at the edge of the bed. She sat there a moment, trying to gain some semblance over her whirring mind and racing heart.

She was in a square room of ample size with a bed putting its left side toward the door, an armoire standing resolutely beside what she assumed to be the egress of the room. A small chair was sitting beside a radiator to her right and accompanied by a small reading table. On the wall across from her sat a small desk with writing papers and an ink well. To her right stood another door, but it held less promise than the other. If she had to guess, she would assume it led to a bathroom or closet. Given the size of the armoire, she guessed it most likely the former.

Slipping on her shoes, she walked as quietly as she could across the lushly rugged floors, which depicted flowers and tangling ivy, to the presumed bathroom door. Opening it curiously, she noted the green tile which spread over the floors and half of the wall, the other half being a rich, dark wood. The tub was impressively long with the edge done also in tile, but the basin of it in copper. She noted a small sink, an open cabinet to the left of it holding towels and other sundry of toiletries, a toilette situated beside the tub and next to her door, and another door on the opposite wall from her own, but no mirror. She wondered at this as she looked back into the room she had awoken in and found no mirror there, either. It was to her to have rooms so perfect, yet no mirror. Almost as if the person in them would naturally be as perfect and not need evidence of the fact.

Flashes of memory invaded her mind unwanted, sending shocks of fear up her spine as she recalled the daunting mask her "Angel" wore. Perhaps it was because of this that there were no reflective surfaces to speak of.

Looking down at the bed she had previously been resting in, she determined to put the rumpled sheets back into order. It was an old habit she had formed and one that proved rather calming. Just as she was placing the pillows on the edge of the comforter, now tucked against the headboard properly, she noticed a small table to the left of the bed. It seemed rather ridiculous to have escaped her eye as it held a lovely lamp with a round shade of painted roses and, more importantly, a small note written in a scrawling red ink.

 _Christine,_

 _Please feel free to explore the home which is now as much yours as it is mine. I have gone out to fetch a few things for you—including breakfast—but shall be back before too long. Please be assured you have nothing to worry about in concerns to your safety nor any intentions you may think I have towards you. You shall never find a better nor more respectful companion than I._

 _—_ _E_

She stared at this note, rereading the red lettering several times over as if trying to convince herself of something, but over whether this was real or a dream she was not sure. Setting it down gently upon the nightstand once more, she walked over to the other door in her room with purpose. Ignoring the faint tremble in her hand, she reached out to the knob and twisted its perfect golden sphere.

The door opened into the hallway she remembered spying from the living room the night before. It was done in a rich maroon with dark wood flooring and panelling on the lower half of the wall. She looked down it to her left, finding her room to be the farthest at this end. There was only one other door in the hall on this side and she walked towards it purposefully. She took a bracing breath, but another open doorway at her back promised safer exploration. Something told her that it was best to wait on the mysterious other door.

She walked into what appeared to be a small dining room with a round table and two chairs. A china cabinet took up the right wall and a simple fixture hung from the ceiling over the table. On the other side of the room, papered to match the hall, was a swinging door which led into a fair sized kitchen. A basin with a long stretch of white marble counter took up most of the left wall with cabinets below and above. A stove stood in the far corner and a Philco refrigerator took up the wall across from her and rested beside another door.

She was beginning to wonder just how many doors this place had when she came out into the living room. She was surprised to notice that the overabundance of flowers were gone and the lights were lit sparingly. She caught a flash of memory of his eyes as she told him lilies gave her headaches. He had looked so crestfallen to have disappointed her, while also fearful to have caused her discomfort. Looking over to the fireplace showed a line of vases that had previously held the flowers and told of the tragic end they had all clearly met. She almost laughed when she bent over the hearth to smell the vague hint of the flowers still lingering.

Something in the hearth caught her eye, however, as she leaned in to find little bit of crystal mixed in with the ashes of the deceased plants. Looking more closely showed the remnants of a few of the vases. She realised he must have thrown some into the fire in his haste—or was it hate?—to be rid of the offending botanical specimens.

This thought shot another pang of fear into her. He had said in his letter that she was safe from him, but who was she to believe the written word of the man who had taken her and refused to show his face.

Her mind began to reel again as she backed away from the hearth and wondered if it would be better to lock herself in the bedroom.

Just then, her thoughts were interrupted by the resounding thump of the elevator in the corner. She stared in wide eyed fear as the heavy door opened and out stepped her black clad companion. She took another jittery step away from the man as he turned his eyes to her. His arms were full with two brown paper grocery bags and a white box resting beneath.

He stopped short when he saw her, looking at him with suspicion and encroaching fear in her eyes.

'Good morning,' he said as gently as he could. She reminded him of a baby deer, prepared to dash off at a moment's notice. He doubted the two were the same, but nonetheless determined treading carefully would be the wise choice.

She continued to hover there, reminding him now of a humming bird, never set to stay in one spot for too long.

'Did you sleep well?' he asked just as cautiously.

She seemed to regard this question more as a being than a form of articulated air. She cocked her head and her brow knitted minimally. 'Yes,' she answered at last, barely more than a whisper.

He let out a breath at this, their ban of silence finally broken. Though she still seemed delicate in her staying in the room, he decided pressing forward would be the best option.

'I am glad to hear it.' He nodded his head formally. 'Now, if you do not mind, these packages are a little too heavy to simply hold forever,' he said, half lying. If she but asked it of him, he would hold the world like Atlas and never complain. Mostly he wanted to move them to a room less tainted in bad memories. He would remedy that soon, he hoped.

She seemed to catch herself as she nodded, looking almost as if she were about to offer help. He could not resist the approving smile that tugged at his lips beneath the mask. Such a good girl.

He walked over to the kitchen door and paused, feeling the embarrassment of his dilemma. 'Would you mind—' He stumbled a bit, looking down sheepishly.

She noticed his issue and jumped to help. She opened the door for him, but remembered to keep her eyes sharp as he walked through. Just because he was human with human problems, did not mean she should accept him. He had kidnapped her, after all.

'Thank you, my dear. I suppose I could have taken the long way…' He trailed off in his thoughts, kicking himself mentally for admitting to a blunder. What was it about this girl that made him revel in his humanity? He had long lived happily with the idea of being a ghost or less than the mortal of flesh and bone he was cured to be, until this girl made him wish for more.

Setting the packages down on the counter, he unstacked the bags and began unpacking them. He kept his movements concise but clear so as not to make her think ill of his intentions. Who was she to believe the written words of a man who had sequestered her down to his hidden home the night before?

'Have you had the chance to explore or did you just wake up?' he asked, looking at her mildly dishevelled person subtly from over his shoulder.

'All except one room,' she answered, her voice gaining strength.

He did not have to ask to know which room she had foregone visiting. He would have known by the look in her eye if she had been in his bedroom. He had wrestled with the idea of locking his doors before leaving, but eventually decided it best to give her the peace of mind for not finding barred doors in a house he had claimed to be hers as well as his. It was for this reason that he let a bit of tension slip from his shoulders. The reassurance that she had not invaded his private chambers gave him comfort. She must have had at least a little respect for him, then.

'Hmm,' he hummed thoughtfully, feigning indifference to her claim. 'And what do you think of it?' he asked, carefully gesturing widely.

'It is a very nice home. You have good taste,' she told him in a moment of odd comfort and boldness.

Through this he had kept his back mostly to her as he idly put things away in the shelves around him, but upon her announcement of judgement he turned to look at her with excited eyes.

'You like it? Truly?' he asked, hearing the schoolboy excitement in his voice and cringing inwardly.

Her eyes grew wide at this and she seemed to shrink from him a bit. He regretted his actions instantly upon seeing the regression in her comfort. He looked down at the ground, appearing to her like a dog expecting a beating for merely barking. She supposed it was her fault for reacting so frightfully to his eagerness to please her. With a start, she realised that was what he was doing. He was trying to make sure she was happy and comfortable. He had moved and spoken in a way to draw her out and not be so skittish.

'Why did you bring me here?' she asked, feeling a bit of hurt come into her tone from the realisation of his actions towards her. She felt tricked and lied to as she compounded it all with his playing along of being her angel. She knew that one was her fault for believing the fairy tales of a child, but he should not have carried on the lie as though it were truth.

He sighed a long, heart rending sigh. He kept his head down as he turned the rest of the way away from her. He let a pregnant silence form in the air about them, consuming words before they were even uttered. 'Because I…' He stopped for a moment, taking another bracing breath. 'Because I was foolish enough to think that was what you wanted. You seemed so lost and helpless that I wanted to be your angel. I wanted to guide you to something real. I did this, all of this for you. I love you, Christine. I know I do not deserve to, but I do. I love you so much that being apart from you hurt more than any wound I have ever had inflicted. Your very presence changes me, Christine. I do not know how to describe it. You make me want to be better than I am,' he told her behind hunched shoulders. He slowly began to turn back to her, ignoring the look of horror that was shining brightly in her eyes. 'Please, Christine,' he begged, meeting her gaze full on with penitent eyes filled with unshed tears. 'Let me show you how good I can be. Let me prove to you the man I can become instead of this,' he draped his arms out to the sides like a scarecrow, ' _thing_ you see before you. Let me show you the depths of my love and only then will I accept your rejection.' He ducked his head at the last word, feeling the inevitable swirling around him in dark clouds of future misery. He would endure it if she chose. He would do anything if it was for her.

Christine had looked on in terror as this odd semblance of man and shadow bore his heart out to her. She felt her feet backing her into the wall as her hands gradually spread for some purchase to keep her standing, or perhaps something to hurl at him so she could make her escape. But then, he seemed to admit defeat. He had given up before he had even tried. She watched him do this with something between confusion and loathing. Pity was a useless thing to have and a degradingly shameful thing to expect from another.

She felt steel enter into her spine and her shoulders straightened. Something of her dream crept back into her mind. She needed to be herself again. She needed to _find_ strength, not force it on so that she could ignore the pain.

'Why?' she asked of him, not allowing herself to be surprised by the stern quality of her voice.

'What?' He looked up at her with a dazed sort of confusion. He was shocked to see the frightened girl before him gone and replaced with a woman, though afraid, not backing down to a bit of fear.

'Why do you love me?' she persisted.

His eyes seemed to empty as his shoulders dropped. He searched around the air for an answer but came up empty handed.

'Why do you love me?' she asked again, more sharply, taking a bold step forward to stand taller off the wall.

'I-I…' he stuttered, looking back up to her, shaking his head minimally. 'You are perfect,' he told her with an honesty he had not expected to have.

She scrunched up her face in an expression of disgust he knew all too well from others. 'That is not love,' she told him, her eyes growing sharper like a bolt of lightning. 'Love is accepting that there are faults in the other just as you do yourself. I am not perfect, and I should thank you to not think so of yourself,' she told him strongly.

'I do not, I assure you,' he told her in a small voice, seemingly letting his words hang on the particles of the air rather than pierce through them.

'Good.' She nodded with conviction.

Silence hung once more about them. Christine felt the wind slowly coming out of her as she realised just how candidly she had spoken to the one who had taken her. She refused fear, but the wariness came back in as he stared at her in continuing shock. He had never had anyone in his life speak quite that way to him. He had been scolded and berated, certainly, but never with the underlying respect and kindness that hers had. She had said those things to help him, not hurt him—despite how much her announcement that what he felt for her was not the true love he had now twice proclaimed.

'Then,' he started timidly. 'If it is not love, what is it?'

Christine had never been looked to for answers to such a deep question as that. The hardest thing she had ever had to answer was whether she preferred listening to opera or jazz. She searched through her many hidden thoughts upon the subject before finally coming up with a word that best suited his obvious obsession with her very being. It was odd to look outside of herself for this. She often preferred to look at the group rather than pertain to it, but this subject struck an odd chord in her.

'Infatuation,' she told him, looking him dead in the eye.

He seemed to melt at this. His shoulders drooped somehow further and she swore she saw his heart hit the floor. He had gone from being a child full of curiosity to a man crushed beneath the weight of his own disappointment. 'Oh,' he said, much as he had about the flowers the night before.

She caught herself wanting to reach out and comfort him, but decided it better to leave him be. He was now a confused and lost man who had trapped her in his home beneath the Majestic. She could have hit herself for making matters worse. Searching around for a way to change the suddenly depressing subject, she finally alighted upon the foodstuffs still half unpacked.

Pulling her hair behind her ear, she shyly asked, 'Um, may we have breakfast now?'

This seemed to do the trick as he instantly brightened to her request. If she could have seen his mouth, she was certain he was smiling as his posture straightened and his eyes came back into the strong focus they had had before.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry for the delay of posting today. I got distracted and forgot what day of the week it was. Being on vacation does that. Anyway, I hope you all realised that I did in fact update on Friday, the site was just acting up. If you haven't read chapter 8 yet, you'll clearly want to do so. Enjoy!**

'What would you like?' he asked her, his eyes glittering in preparation for a challenge.

She had to stifle the urge to giggle at his eagerness to please. He was like a puppy. 'Nothing too complicated. I don't know what you bought, so…' She trailed off as she tried to peer around him to see what was on the counter to give some indication as to the food he had deemed necessary for her.

His eyes shone even more at her subtle curiosity. 'As you wish, Mademoiselle,' he said with the faintest of purrs at her title. He felt his heart skip a bit when she ducked into a slight blush at his words. Something in this reminded him of what else he had bought for her this morning.

'Here,' he said after grabbing the white box from the counter. He held it out to her incredulous gaze. 'I promise I won't bite,' he told her, though the joke was lost a bit when he infused it with solemnity.

Taking it from him, she clutched it to her in a way she hoped would not seem like a wild animal cautiously accepting food from a human.

'Feel free to make use of the bathroom. Breakfast shall be ready in time if you wish to take a bath,' he told her, hoping she would not take this as some kind strange threat upon her sensitivity.

She nodded timidly before leaving the room. She reappeared at the door a moment later, looking at her feet as she brushed the toe of her shoe on the floor. He looked at her oddly contradictory behaviour with a cock of his head. One moment she could be as brave as a warrior, the next as meek and innocent as a turtle dove. This aspect only endeared him to her more, though.

'You didn't have to burn them all, by the way,' she told the floor, but Erik knew the words were for him. He felt himself pale a bit at her discovery of the sudden deaths of the flowers. 'I don't hate all flowers. I don't truly dislike lilies, I just cannot be in the same room as them for too long,' she explained.

'I see,' he admitted softly, feeling guilty for acting so rashly on both counts for the flowers. Too many, now too few. He felt he was fighting a losing battle.

'I rather like roses, though,' she told him.

He looked up just in time to see her eyes, gentle and unafraid, before she ducked back off to her task. He swore upon that moment that he would remember the look in those hazel orbs forever, and would do anything in his power to see it again. Infatuation it may be, but he knew his heart was slowly slipping from his not so resistant grasp.

* * *

Christine went into what she supposed she could safely mentally designate as her room and put the white box on the bed for further examination. It felt rather heavy, but she could not guess what it might be.

Pulling the lid off revealed a sapphire blue dress. It was very modestly cut with a close, round neck even more concealing than her current dress and with short sleeves that were fairly loose. The skirt of it, cinched at the waist by a long thin sash of matching hue, was long and diaphanous. It billowed down in faintly ruffle-hemmed chiffon to her shin and had a slip underneath. The weight of the box came from a pair of t-strap heels, rounding her height up to a nice five foot six. The thing that struck her about them, though, was that their patent leather was of the exact same shade as the dress. Erik had clearly put a good bit of thought into this ensemble. While impressed by his devotion to her needs, she was slightly perturbed he would go to such trouble for her.

Shaking the thoughts away, she headed into the bathroom, checking to make sure the other door was securely locked before starting up the water. She was amazed by how quickly it heated, hardly needing any time to come to a comfortable temperature. Most mornings, she had to deal with a tepid bath as her apartment was situated farthest from the hot water heater and her late nights meant later rise and less fresh water prepared.

Sinking into the warm liquid with a sigh, she let her head relax upon the gentle curve of the edge of the tub. It felt nice to unwind and breathe without worrying over all of the events that had come to pass in the last few hours. She wondered idly what brought a man like Erik to think himself in love with her. Certainly she had a few good qualities, and she was not about to say she was completely useless, but to compel someone to steal her away seemed a bit of a stretch.

She knew her face was of average beauty. She liked how her nose was straight apart from the slight tip up it had at the end, and her lips were a nice cupid's bow with a round bottom lip, but her eyes were decidedly too large and her chin too sharp when compared to her mild cheekbones. Her hair was a story for another day as it was the most unruly set of curls known to man. She supposed her figure was nice enough, though she felt her hips were a bit too full for today's fashion. Really, she was nothing special appearance wise, so perhaps he truly did find her personality attractive. How he managed to discern this, she would probably never know. She was too changeable for even Meg to follow most days. One moment she would be strong, the next a crying mess in a hidden corner somewhere. She knew her value as someone who would give their all for something they believed in, but as far as being truly herself was concerned, she did not feel overly secure in knowing who she was. Everything felt so shaken up lately that she wondered if it might be simpler to just let someone else decide.

She determinedly shook this thought away. She was not the kind of person to let someone trample all over her. That much she knew, despite how she let herself be lost in the sea of the crowd.

Washing quickly, she left the tub with a resolve she hoped would last. She would let her father's words guide her as she had since she was little.

"Don't be afraid to stand up and say who you are. Only you can decide what your life will become."

She felt her mettle being tested in this new and odd series of events, and she set her shoulders with the determination to see that she came out of it stronger.

Dressing in her new clothes as the red dress was embarrassingly wrinkled and would need pressing, she headed out of her room and into the hallway. Instantly, she felt her certainty melt as she did not know where to look for her masked companion. Following her nose, however, brought her into the dining room where Erik was leaning over the table, uttering something to himself as he set two places.

'Be kind, courteous, and gentle,' he uttered over and over again as if in a mantra.

Christine was caught between stifling a laugh and wondering if it would be kinder to walk back out of the room to announce her return rather than clearing her throat. Unfortunately her choices were erased when he froze suddenly before turning round to face her, his back pressed slightly against the chair he had been stretched over. She could see his flush of embarrassment rising on the small bit of exposed skin between the collar of his white shirt and the edge of the black mask. She knew it rude to make fun of his nervous self-assurances, but she could not help how childish they seemed when compared to his rigid and imposing demeanour.

He looked at her with wide eyes for a moment as she tried to hide her own blush at catching him off guard. Finally, he shook off his surprise and decided it best to push forward, praying she would not bring the tender subject up.

'Bonjour, ma chérie,' he greeted, cringing at the fact he had already done so earlier. 'I take it the dress and shoes are to your liking?' he asked, nodding a bit towards her new clothes which he had to admit gave him a surge of pride to see on her.

'Oh,' she looked down as if just noticing them. 'Yes, they are lovely, thank you.' She hated how encouraging she was being towards his behaviour, but she always blushed when someone complimented her. She decided to wait on the question that had occurred to her when she got dressed: how did he know her size? She supposed that after four years of watching her through the mirror in the dressing room that any clever man could guess, but even the shoes fit like they were made for her. It disturbed her that he knew her every detail so well.

'And may I say, you look absolutely stunning in them,' he told her, gesturing her over to the other chair with an elegant sweep of his hand. _Too much_ , _too much_ , he cursed mentally as she coloured again, hurrying over to the chair with that skittish flutter of footsteps. He could not help but compliment her. She was simply too beautiful to ignore. He fought the urge to pull her chair out for her, knowing the close proximity that it would require would most likely frighten her off.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, as was her tendency when faced with overwhelming flattery, she turned her attentions to the plate before her. On it sat a wonderfully flaking croissant with a small set of dishes of jam, a wide rimmed cup of coffee, and a little glass of crème with an accompanying dish of sugar. She looked up questioningly to her companion.

'I did not know what you liked on it, so I thought to give you options,' he explained as she looked over all of the jams, each with a tiny place card to mark what kind it was. He noted how she covered her mouth with her hand as she shoulders started shaking. His heart beat erratically as he observed this, his words flurrying from his mouth. 'If you would prefer something else I would be more than happy to—'

She cut him off as she released a bout of laughter. He had never heard something so heavenly as her giggling across the table from him. He could only sit there, enraptured by the simplest gift she could have given him. Beyond the glance from earlier, of course. Simple, yet he would treasure it forever.

'I'm sorry,' she said, covering her still smiling lips with her red painted fingertips. 'I don't know what came over me just then,' she excused, feeling like a silly child. She noted her companion's stiff figure and wondered if her impropriety had upset him. 'I did not mean to offend.'

'Not at all. But, if I may, what caused such laughter?' he asked, taking a guess.

'Forgive me, but it was you.' She knew even with the mask that his eyebrows shot up at this. 'I have never seen someone take so much trouble into preparing a French breakfast,' she explained further, noting his absent confusion.

He looked at her as if this were the only viable way to prepare breakfast. 'Of course, I want to make you happy,' he explained though it was obvious to everyone. He seemed to falter a bit, letting in some of his insecurity into his golden eyes. 'Does this arrangement…please you?' he asked, suddenly timid again.

Christine sighed a bit, noting how her opinions caused him worry. Why could he not be happy for his own sake? She stopped this as she realised she was often guilty of the same uncertainty. 'It does. Thank you,' she told him with a gentle smile.

Turning back to her croissant, she dipped the tip in the dish of honey, then into her coffee for the slightest of moments. She took her bite, humming contentedly as she did so. It was the perfect consistency and her coffee was now made just slightly sweeter from the honey. She preferred tea, but a sweetened coffee would never be ignored. She happened to glance up then, noting the way her companion was watching her every move with rapt interest. He looked like one who was studying the behaviour of a monkey when given a puzzle to solve. She felt the microscope of his gaze analysing her intently. It disturbed her and she set down her food to look at him sternly before noticing his own food was going untouched as his hands were folded in his lap.

She cocked her head at his odd behaviour. 'Are you not going to—' she stopped, seeing the error in her question. His mask. He could not eat with his mask on. 'I am so sorry.' She ducked her head, feeling shame wash over her. She had suspected, given the absence of mirrors in the household that he wore the protective face covering to conceal something more than his identity from her. Something in the way he held himself told her he would not care if she knew who he was, so the reason must be from there being something wrong with his face. She had just asked a potentially disfigured man why he was not trying to eat with the mask he was forced to wear.

He would be forever surprised by this girl, Erik determined. He had known the question she would pose the moment she had looked up to him. He had let a hardness come into his eyes at her thoughtlessness. His entire visage was covered in black leather, for God's sake. But then she amazed him by seeing the error and then apologising. He had expected her to think it silly to ask something so obvious, but never to apologise for an offence she had not truly committed. He softened even more at this caring attitude. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and thank whatever God had deemed him worthy of her presence in his life, but he withheld such an urge, seeing the hurt on her face. She thought him angry or offended by her. Such a silly, beautiful girl she was.

'It is fine. I shall eat in the kitchen later. I am not hungry often,' he told her, hoping to assuage the fears he saw lurking in her downcast eyes. He did not want her rushing from the room thinking him mad at her.

She looked up in surprise at his passive tone. All hint of offence was gone from the pools of gold which were his shining irises. If anything, they shone as if she had paid him a great respect. She wanted to question if he was sure he would not rather find another arrangement so that he could eat, but determined that trying to make her captor more comfortable was not the wisest choice. She knew he cared deeply for her, and so encouraging this would only make the line she had drawn between them fainter.

Instead, she finished her croissant in silence. She sipped her coffee, trying to ignore his persistent gaze and look anywhere but at him. She suddenly felt her eyes beginning to stare, which was one thing she did not wish to do. She had the feeling that staring would only set him off, though he insisted that he would never be angry with her.

'Perhaps you would like to sing a bit when you are finished,' he offered, noting her discomfort.

She looked at him with fearful confusion. He cursed whatever words had brought this back out in her.

'Oh, but I can't,' she said, feeling her tightrope of security narrowing beneath her feet. 'I have to go to work,' she explained in what she hoped to be a reasonable tone.

'You need not concern yourself with it.' He brushed the idea aside with a graceful hand.

'But I have to. I cannot pay my rent without it,' she explained, feeling her breaths start to shorten as panic rose in her stomach.

'I will pay your rent for you, if it would please you,' he told her, an excitement at doing something to make her happy glimmering in his eye.

'No, I would rather do it on my own, thank you. I have lived off other's kindness enough in my life,' she told him in a calmly assertive voice. 'And I fear I must be going, I do not wish to be late.' She slowly rose from the table. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched him do the same. 'I thank you for your kind hospitality, but I truly must go.' She started backing towards the kitchen door behind her.

'Christine, you need not worry over it,' he insisted. 'Besides, it is well past noon.'

She stopped, frozen by this. 'Noon?' she asked in rising panicked horror.

'Yes,' he answered her calmly. 'It would seem you slept in later than usual. I suppose that is my fault for not providing a clock, but I find the ticking tiresome,' he told her, shrugging as if they were two average humans holding a regular conversation.

'I am already so late! I will lose my job for this!' she said, running her fingers through her hair as her eyes welled with tears. 'Please, I have to go,' she insisted, putting her fingers behind her to the swinging door.

'Christine,' his tone suddenly grew sharper, widening her eyes with fear. He seemed to realise this, took a breath, and started over in a gentler voice. 'Christine, there is no need, I assure you. Neither the bookstore nor the Majestic are open today. It is Easter Sunday,' he explained with a smile in his voice at her silly flustering.

'I don't care, I want to go,' she told him, letting tears into her eyes.

'Now Christine,' he started as if reprimanding a peevish child, but he never finished as she suddenly whirled round and flew through the kitchen door. He hurried after her, his eyes glinting from the chase. He watched her as she swept through the kitchen, looking like a blue bird in flight. He followed with long, purposeful strides as she fluttered to the elevator door and started digging at it with her fingers, trying to pry it open. She yelped slightly, clutching at her hand as she watched the small cut on her right three middle fingers start to seep ruby droplets.

Erik was upon her in an instant, looming over her comparatively small frame imperiously. He felt her fearful eyes sear into him as she looked up. She brought her hands up defensively, but he caught her wrists, trying to examine the cut on her finger. She yelled at this, pushing against him as he watched her in confusion. She made him take a step back, bumping into the coat rack and sending it to the floor with a clatter. In this she managed to wriggle her hands free before fleeing to her bedroom with tearful gasps.

He heard the door slam as it wracked through him what he had just done. He felt the burning of his own eyes and blinked it away. He realised then that his actions mixed with the look of a predator stalking its weak prey had undone any security he may have hoped to gain in her happiness with him. Letting out a wail of despair and frustration, he instantly crumpled to the floor, shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes forcefully as he took in rasping breaths. He had ruined everything! He had destroyed all hope of ever winning her! Even now she was probably hoping for the comforting arms of that boy he had seen her dressing room. She would shun him, the monster, and run to that perfect faced, blue eyed child of a man with open arms.

Rising from the floor, he walked to his room like a man determined to die. He cringed away from the sobbing he heard on the other side of her bedroom door and let each gasping hiccup of a breath she took stab through him like a knife. He had brought this upon himself. But even worse, he had brought this upon her. His angel was now suffering pitifully because of his foolhardy hopes that she could come to care for him.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry for the later update. I'm in another state and the time change is messing me up on basically everything. Thankfully the FF email notification issue seems to be fixed. Hope you all enjoy as always.**

Erik sat against the wall in his bedroom, listening with his sensitive ears to the faint sounds of sobbing coming from two rooms over. To fully wash himself in the punishment of hearing her cry, he had opened the door to their adjoining bathroom. He let her every inhale in be a serrated knife through his heart while her wailing cry out—stifled slightly by the pillow he assumed she had buried her face in—rang through him like a new thrust into the tender flesh of the vital organ. He let himself wallow in the self-punishment, knowing damn well he deserved it and so much more from her. In truth, it was almost kind merely having to hear her. If he were put before her now, he would not be able to meet her eye for the tears which would well up in his own. He had broken her. He had broken the most beautiful thing in the world thinking it was in his possession. He had clipped his bird's wings.

He listened for what felt like an eternity until it finally began to calm down slightly. He could not tell if his own silent tears had brought drowsiness upon him or if his angel had finally stopped crying. Sitting up a little straighter, he listened for what she might do next. Would she try to escape again, or would she simply sleep and hope that this was all some kind of dream?

He was beyond amazed when a third option was chosen and he heard her come into the bathroom. He listened intently as she came in, obviously noting the open door to his room by her faint gasp. He wondered if this would be the end of it and she would rush back into her room never to be seen again. He found himself wrong again as he heard faint shuffling in the open cabinet on the far end of the narrow room. At a hiss of pain, he was looking to the doorway at the angelically glowing silhouette of his darling Christine.

She peered into the darkness that was his room, seemingly confused as to whether or not she should enter.

'Erik?' she called in.

He had to take a bracing breath for the wild beating of his heart at her utterance of his name. Never had it sounded so lovely as when she spoke it.

'Yes, Christine?' he asked, still slightly breathless.

'Where do you keep the bandages?' She sounded childishly ashamed that she should have to ask.

'Here,' he started, coming off the floor and shaking life back into his legs which had laid uselessly in front of him for what he now thought to be merely an hour. He wondered how she had any liquid left to her after so long a time spent crying.

He paused his purposeful stride when he heard her gasp, presumably catching the glint from the light in his eyes. He knew he looked rather strange with the golden tint of his irises. He always had, but it did not help his case any to have let them be the cause of her earlier fear. Slowing his gait, he came up to her, watching with a concealed cringe as she shied away from his presence. He supposed that in her contradictory moods that this must be one of her acts of forced boldness. He could not help the smile that came from the adorable nature of her efforts. She was trying to act grown up and strong.

Walking over to the cabinet she must only have given a cursory examination, he pulled out the small white box of the first aid kit. He motioned for her to sit on the edge of the tub, but she did not comply until he made to lay out the supplies.

'It was my fault you got hurt. Please, let me fix it,' he asked of her, keeping his eyes down in a non-threatening, contrite way.

Finally, with a shaking breath for support, she came over and sat on the smooth tiled edge of the tub. She leaned back a bit in surprise when he kneeled before her, reaching out with what he hoped she would not notice to be trembling hands for hers. She obliged, keeping her fingers curled round the handkerchief she had now stained from the cuts. He cringed a bit at this, but gently unfolded them, taking the soiled fabric away carefully for fear of irritating the cuts. He felt his heart twist in his chest as he observed the continuous line across the tips of her index, middle, and ring finger on her right hand. They were not deep, but clearly hurt a good bit.

Blinking away the tears that threatened once again, he took a cotton ball and put it to the bottle of rubbing alcohol before tipping the container for a brief second. He tried to brace himself for the pain he was about to inflict in order to help her, and looked to her eyes for reassurance. He found patience and weariness from crying, her eyes red and swollen like the little ball of the tip of her nose. Her lips too were a bit puffy, but he found the tragic sight still strangely glorious. Somehow in a tear-stained state she took his breath away.

'This is going to sting a bit,' he warned, hoping to see something besides fear from his words. She looked at him with a flicker of uncertainty before hardening herself in preparation for the discomfort of rubbing alcohol on an open cut. Instead, however, she noted he only rubbed around the cut. She looked confusedly at him as he held her hands under the fosset of the tub, running cool water over the injuries. He then took a bit of soap from the tray and rubbed it on his now wetted fingers, gently taking them to smooth over her cuts.

She tried not to yank her hand back as she sucked in a breath at feeling her fingers burn from the soap. She heard him mutter another apology before he took her hand from under the water and turned off the tap. Taking a towel which she now noted to be ivory and soft plush, he dried their hands with as much care as he could.

'What was the point of the alcohol if you were just going to put my hand in the water?' she asked, miffed he had raised her fears for nothing.

'I wanted to see how big the cuts were. The dried blood was concealing them too much. Besides, don't you like my bottle?' he asked, showing a bit of pride as he held up the bottle of alcohol. She nearly burst out laughing as she noticed fully that it was in the shape of a violin in cobalt blue glass. He caught the mirth in her eyes and tried to hold it. 'One of my many eccentricities,' he shrugged as if that explained everything.

'Do you have a collection of Avon bottles, too?' she asked, raising her eyebrows as if nothing would surprise her anymore.

'No. Should I?' he asked, cocking his head before realising the joke in her words. 'I just…liked this one,' he said, bowing his head and subtly grabbing a few Band-Aids from his box of supplies.

Christine felt herself giggling again as she cheerily hummed the theme for the adhesive medical strips. Erik was growing amused by this laughing, slightly punchy Christine. He wrapped the soft cloth around her finger, letting it cling onto itself due to the small circumference of her slender digits. He put each one on with considerable care, watching from his peripherals for any sign of them bringing unnecessary discomfort to her. He debated on giving her poor, bandaged fingers a kiss, but decided against it and instead patted her hand gently.

Christine tested her fingers by gripping her hand a bit, noting the limits of her movement and how much the cuts hurt. She ignored the masked man as he methodically put away the supplies, threw out her bloodied handkerchief in the waste bin next to the sink, and looked to her rather expectantly.

'You really should let me leave,' she said, not meeting his gaze. She sounded almost resigned to a dark and wicked fate when she announced this.

'I know, and I will tomorrow. Please, Christine,' he took her hands delicately in his, tearing her eyes to him with a pleading look of utter despair. 'Please just grant me one more night of you in my home. I swear no harm will come to you and I shall return you back to life above before you are late for your work. Just allow me your presence a little longer before you leave me forever.' He begged it of her, knowing he was despicable for putting such pressure on her slender shoulders.

She seemed to search about a moment before nodding slightly. She wanted to ask what he expected to gain from her staying one more night if he anticipated her eternal absence, but decided it was like denying a dying man his last request. She worried then about him, if her staying a few extra hours in his company would mean so very much to him.

He took her nod with unbelieving eyes and nearly wept with joy. He smiled shakily before realising she could not see it. This sent a thrill through him.

'Wait here,' he told her abruptly, holding out his hand as if commanding a dog to stay seated. She lifted a cautious eyebrow at this as he ducked into his room of pure darkness. She heard a shuffling and a muttered swear before a breathed, 'Ah-ha!' She held in a smile at this. How he could act like a child sometimes. She stared wide eyed at nothing as she realised she was thinking of him as though she knew him. What in the Hell was wrong with her? She must be delusional from all of the crying, she told herself.

Before she could delve into this further, however, his head popped back into the room. She saw his lopsided grin as though his mouth were not used to smiling. His mouth! He was wearing a new mask, this one of white leather and covering all of his face but his chin and lips. The rest was moulded like the other, but something about it seemed less daunting.

'What do you think?' he asked, holding his arms out as though he had tried on a new suit rather than a different face covering.

'It's…nice,' she complimented weakly. He seemed to take this well, however, as he smiled in satisfaction to himself.

'I thought you might like it better than the other one. It seemed to frighten you,' he told her, now seeming small again.

That was decidedly not what frightened her about him, but she did not feel like voicing that inevitable topic of deep discussion. She simply smiled as best she could when faced with a man who was acting like a child with a new toy, rather than a different mask. When had her life become so strange, she wondered.

'I must admit to wanting to colour it,' he told her at length, feeling the uncomfortable silence looming over them. 'I thought maybe a light pink on the cheeks and faint violet under the eyebrows.'

Given the look she was casting him of horrified concern, he deemed he had made the right choice in holding off on his paint supplies. 'Too much?' he asked, getting a fervent bout of nodding in reply. He sighed resignedly. 'Yes, I thought that might be the case.'

Turning his eyes back to her, he caught an idea. 'Would you like some lunch, or maybe just something to drink?' he asked, noting her pale pallor. She nodded minimally, taking his now outstretched hand as she rose from her seat on the tub. She did not continue to hold it, much to his dismay, but any contact was well worth the effort.

Letting him lead the way, they left through her room and walked to the kitchen. He seemed a bit more confident in this, which made her both grin and feel a pang of concern. He was still a strange man in a strange house which she was not allowed to leave until the following morning. This pit grew in her stomach, hardening her eyes even when he glanced back over his shoulder at her as if to make sure she was still there. The jovial light in his eyes seemed to dim slightly at her distant expression, but he seemed too excited to know she was really and truly in his home to let it bother him too greatly.

'I promised you this morning I would never do anything to hurt you,' he reminded her as they walked into the white tile floored kitchen. His shoulders seemed to have slumped a bit in their short journey and she wondered if it was because of the emotional barrier she had put up in front of her generally expressive eyes. She had long cursed their size and telling roundness. She sometimes longed for the narrower slits of Katharine Hepburn.

'Hmm,' she hummed indifferently. She stood in the middle of the room, feeling utterly useless. She looked at some of the cupboards as if expecting one to start talking to her and telling her where the glasses were.

Erik seemed to pick up on this as he reached out to one, but recoiled his hand in thought. 'The cups are there.' He nodded, shifting over to keep the few feet of space she preferred between them. He hid his smile at the wave of shock that washed past her features before they grew stern again.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as she stood on tip toe to reach the shelf with the appointed glassware. He cursed himself on his foolishness. He was nearly a whole foot taller than her and thus had things in his home built accordingly. Watching her stretch up, he walked over to the refrigerator to give her both access to the sink, but also to get out some bread and cheese for the sandwiches he was preparing for her. Her fingers brushed the glass a bit too far and it came crashing down onto the floor.

The noise of shattering glass rang through his ears with unexpected fear aligned with it. He did not know why, but his heart lurched to his throat and his hands shot out before he could think to stop himself. Before he knew it, he had Christine pressed up against him as he heaved heavy breaths. He clung to her slight form which trembled beneath his long fingers. Pulling her back just enough, he saw terror reflected from his eyes into hers as he held her cheeks.

She stared ay him dumbly as his breath caught terribly in his throat with a sob. He crumpled before her, clutching at the edge of her skirt, both mere inches from shattered remains of the glass.

'I'm sorry. Please, do not be angry. Please, I'm so sorry.' He begged like a small child not wishing to be beaten.

Christine felt her instinct to run pulling at her once more, yet something in his weeping form, now repeated from her first night here, made her stop and swallow her own fear to tend to his.

'I'm not angry, Erik,' she said, trying to mask the uncertainty in her voice. Just less than a day and they had both cried more times than she generally did in a year.

'Please, take me home,' he finally pleaded in a voice unlike his own. 'Take Erik home. He is too scared to stay. He's sorry he lied. Take Erik home, please!'

Christine froze at this. Never in her life had she heard someone refer to themselves in third person outside of a joke or self-reprimand, but given the abundance of tears pouring and staining the hem of her blue dress, she found this to be far from either scenario.

Perhaps it is a motherly instinct that drives even the most terrified to comfort those who need it. For all that he was and had done to her in the past fourteen or so hours, Christine found herself carefully kneeling on the floor next to his quivering form as he curled in on himself. She brushed away a few shards of glass before pulling at his shoulders to look up. She tried to control her heartrate as she watched the grown man weep like a child on the kitchen floor. She did not want to panic, but it was difficult when faced with this—whatever _this_ was.

'Erik, you _are_ home. You're in your home right now in the kitchen, remember? You brought me here last night. Though I am not sure I forgive you for lying to me for so long, it was not entirely your fault.' She tried to reason with him, but he only shook his head.

Muttering a few more "Erik is sorry"s, he continued to stay in a foetal position on the floor. Finding he was unresponsive to her gentle tugs, Christine pulled at his shoulders a bit more earnestly. Finally she managed to drag him up a bit, but he still kept his back arched too much to see his face. He let out another sob, still sounding more like a child than a man, and it hurt her deeply.

'Erik, please, you're scaring me,' she pleaded with him, leaning in to search out his eyes. When he wailed again, she gritted her teeth against the stinging in her eyes and pulled him to her. She was not sure what strange Hell she had fallen into or what one she would be going to for this, but she found herself to be sitting on his kitchen floor, clutching the sobbing mass of the man in her arms, and petting his head while cooing comfortingly. He did not hold her back, simply letting his arms hang limply in front of him while he sobbed against her breastbone.

'Shhh, Erik, it's all right now. Don't cry, shhh. I'm here. There's nothing to be afraid of,' she tried, hoping it would be enough to pacify him some. Looking down at him again, she realised she had not noticed before, but he had a particular scent about him. It was like a cedar chest with an added spice of sweetness. It was oddly comforting, like pulling out clothes of a grandparent's to play dress up in. She rubbed his shoulder, now absent of its sleek black jacket since the failed escape attempt incident. Now he was down to a crisp white shirt, black suspenders, and plain black tie. His hair, before perfectly immaculate in its slick, was getting ruffled as she ran her fingers through its silky depths, massaging his scalp underneath. It was the colour of the blackness that claims you right before you start to dream. His shoulders were surprisingly narrow, now that she felt them. The jacket had given them false width as they were little more than wiry muscle and bone. Feeling him against her and all of his sharp angles inadvertently digging into her suggested the rest of him was so.

'I-I forgive you, Erik. For lying to me. It was foolish of me to fall for such a silly story,' she told him as he started hiccupping. 'I didn't know it would hurt you so much. For that I'm sorry,' she continued, closing her eyes as she tucked her cheek further into his soft hair. She breathed in his scent like a bracing agent before pulling back to seek out his eyes.

They were downcast, but given the slight flush at his normally pale ears, it was from embarrassment rather than further anguish. He started to lean away, but slowly so that she would not think he was rejecting her. He knelt perpendicular to her, looking at his skeletal fingers as they curved in slightly from their resting position on the floor at his knees.

'I'm sorry you had to see that,' he told her in a small voice, but the tone was his own this time.

'Erik, if I'd known my actions would upset you, I would have tried to forgive you sooner,' she told him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

He looked at the hand as if it were that of an angel's telling him he would simply never be good enough to enter Heaven. He reached up as if to cover it with his own, but thought better of it. He shook his head, straightening just a bit.

'That was not why I was upset,' he said as though that would put an end to the conversation.

'Then why were you crying? You asked for forgiveness for lying, so I thought you meant…' She trailed off as he turned his head from her, shame palpable in the air around them.

'They don't happen often. You needn't worry yourself over it,' he told her, making to stand up. She snagged his hand, however, halting his process slightly as she forced him to stay near her.

'What's going on with you?' she asked with genuine concern and not a hint of disgust in her tone.

'Flashbacks. Please, do not ask me further.' He tried to pull away, not very hard, but he tried…a little.

'Erik,' she spoke with patience and openness. 'Please tell me.'

Sighing heavily, he hung his head. Changing the turn of his hand, he held it to assist her to rise with him. He could feel her persistent gaze cutting through his shoulder.

'Let me make you lunch and get us both something to drink, and I shall tell you, if you truly wish it,' he said, seemingly like the man who had condemned himself to suffer in Hell for all eternity.

'I just want to try to understand you, Erik,' she told him gently. It was the truth. Ever since she had thoroughly gotten it through her skull that her angel was a man, she had wanted to know the why for everything he had done over the past four years of their acquaintance. Ever since she had come to his home she had wondered why it was here and what exactly drove a man to live underneath a jazz café in the middle of New York City. It was in the hope of having these questions being answered that she held firm to her resolve to hear what he had to tell.

 **A/N: Next chapter: Story Time for Erik!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hope all of the mums in the U.S. had a nice Mother's Day yesterday. I think it's odd that U.S. and Europe have different days for Mother's Day. It was all started by card companies anyway, so why the different dates? Ah, well. I hope you all like this chapter. We get a bit of Erik's backstory and it was actually my starting point for wanting to write this. It all fit so well together that I couldn't resist.**

Erik came into the living room with a plate of tiny, simple ham sandwiches and a tall glass of water. He set them down on the coffee table, turning to ignore them. Christine had insisted that he eat something to help regain some strength, but he seriously doubted the power of a few tea sandwiches and some water. Still, he was happy so long as she ate and drank well. They had both been through a bit more than he would have liked for her first day in his home.

Walking over to a small table beside the fireplace, he poured himself a brandy, letting the amber liquid swirl in the glass, matching his darkly contemplative eyes. He watched his fairer companion walk in, carrying her water in a similar fashion as he had. She looked between his crystal tumbler and his eyes warily.

'A necessity for a tale such as this. I do not indulge often, I assure you,' he told her, hoping to placate the uncertainty in her gaze. She nodded, but kept her brow furrowed. How he longed to smooth it with his thumb and turn their afternoon to more pleasurable discussions. He wished to do a lot of things, but it seemed that she was not in the mood to allow him such a comforting liberty.

She moved to sit in the wingback, but paused, perhaps noting how at ease she suddenly was in his living room. He observed her with amusement as she reminded herself to be aloof. He gestured openly to the chair and suppressed a grin when she tilted her chin up obstinately before sitting. He would humour her in her childish resistance of his hospitality. She had clearly determined that this home was not as he had described earlier as being equal parts her own. A dark cloud descended upon his mind when it occurred to him that she may never come to accept this.

Turning back to the fireplace, he sighed heavily. He questioned in his thoughts if it really were necessary to discuss this. He hardly knew where to begin. Thankfully, however, Christine saved him this inconvenience.

'You told me once that you are from Paris, which would explain the French accent and terms you use,' she plied him gently.

'Yes, and you are from Uppsala, Sweden, but lived in Paris for several years after your father's passing.' He did not mean to, but his voice had an edge to it. He could practically hear her chest tighten about her heart as she stared at his back hurtfully. 'I-I am sorry, Christine. I did not mean to…' He turned slightly to see her betrayed glare burning into him. Finally he hung his head. 'Forgive me.'

Christine took a moment to compose herself as she regarded the man before her. He seemed so weak and unsure. She wondered if his tale would be too big for him to tell, but decided it best to press on. 'What were your parents like, Erik?' she asked, watching him brighten only at the use of his name. It seemed to bring him immense pleasure to hear her say it.

'I do not know for I never got to meet them. I grew up at a Catholic Orphanage in the poor end of the city. I did not have much, growing up, but I was able to find music. We had an old, broken down piano that I would play to the best of my then meagre abilities. I never made friends very easily, but I suppose that has only helped me now. I had no use of them when I had so many dream worlds in which to play. I liked to imagine a great many things for myself as a child. I had a few favourites, of course. I remember wanting to be a singer on the stages of Paris, to design wonderful buildings the likes of which the world had never seen. I even imagined I was a composer who would thrill audiences with his glorious music. But at the end of each day, I was merely poor, unhappy Erik.'

Christine nodded thoughtfully at this, realising how her singing was something of an extension of his own failed desires.

'One day, when I was around ten, or so, I left. I am not certain why, but something in the air told me it was time to leave. I determined that if no one wanted to adopt me then, they likely never would. I roamed freely about the city, taking in the architecture as I went. I lived off of scraps and slept in the holes in the ground. I remember one day looking up to see a rat turn his nose up at me. It was a terrible existence, but I had never wished for much in that respect. I had great and wondrous dreams, certainly, but no ideas on how to pursue them. I was a fool to believe that all of your dreams come true like in fairy tales.

'I went on like this until the rumblings of war began to fill the air around me. It had been stirring for many years, but as I read more in the papers I found in trash cans, I found myself drawn with a curiosity that would not be slaked. I wanted to know about this foreign thing which all of the men seemed to boast about and the women admired in their husbands. I suppose I wanted to impress someone for once. I wanted to be someone others looked up to or spoke well of instead of sneered at or kicked when in their way. I determined I should go to war.' He paused to shake his head at the ceiling, remembering well the childish fantasies which lead him to such a folly.

'The only problem that worried me along this foolhardy path to glory was my age,' he continued. 'The army only drafted men of eighteen, but I was just barely thirteen. Still, I found myself in possession of a dingy, yet adequate mirror. I cut my then ragged hair like the men did, tried my best to look stronger than my thin frame suggested, and carried myself like any of the other boys did. I found myself incredibly lucky that my unusual height at my young age and the simple maths involved in lying about my birthdate was enough to convince them. Looking back, I suppose the enlistment officer took pity on me, or the army was simply that desperate for men. Still, I was to be a soldier.

'Now, Christine, you must understand that when you become a soldier in any army, they must train you. They cannot have simple children running about with weapons in their hands to fight. No. They must have able bodied men to toe the line. I was taught how to shoot—finding myself extremely good at this—, how to fight—another hidden talent—, and how to march. This was all fine and well, but they left out one very important detail: how to kill.

'Believe me when I tell you, my dear, that there is nothing like knowing that you have ended someone's life. There is no feeling in the world which compares to watching the light dim from another's eyes, knowing you have stolen their future and nullified their past. It is one of the most powerful sensations on the planet, and yet it brings no joy or fulfilment. For you see, there is nothing to be gained from killing another. No war is won by the simple death of a young soldier, and no satisfaction is gained from making a widow out of a wife, or denying a mother her son. It leaves you hollow and dead inside. You wish someone else would take your life just to get rid of the unfillable hole that forms in your heart. It is a cruel, twisted existence to know you have ended the world's most precious gift. No country in all the world would be worth the pain and suffering and sleepless nights that come from ending a person's life. I would give anything to take it back, as I have longed for these past twenty-five years.'

He took a shaking breath, trying to force out some of the harsher memories and simply focus on the basics. He wished to inform Christine, not frighten her more. 'We sat in trenches, longing for the sweet relief that this would all turn out to be a silly, yet horrible dream. We longed for angels to come and lift our souls up to Heaven. We even longed for the Devil himself to save us from this Hell on Earth and take us to his comparatively merciful torture. Surely, we thought, nothing could be worse than this.

'Then, one day not far from the end of the war, as I later discovered, the whole world went silent. Not even the air dared disturb the utterly perfect silence that reigned over all of creation. No bombs, no guns, simply silence. It was the most wonderful thing in the world. I dream of it some nights. I do, Christine. And do you know what I hear? You. I hear your voice in that silence of my memory. The call of an angel before I was sent to Hell. Oh, but do not worry, my dear, I do not blame you for my plight. No. I thank you for filling my dreams with your angelic voice. It is a comfort to me as you would never understand, for when I woke up from that serene silence, I was never the same.

'I knew the moment I stepped out onto the battlefield that I would be forever changed, but I had underestimated just how much it would change me. When I woke from my time at war, I found myself…No, I never found myself again. The silly boy who had thought there was glory to be had in the death of others had long since died in me. When I woke I saw what I had truly become. I saw the physical damage my mistake had wrought. I saw the price of childish ignorance written on my face. My face…' He wavered here, touching his hand lightly to the mask. He turned somehow farther away from his seated companion.

'Once I saw what I had become, I knew there would be no home for me. No world among men would have me, so I left what I had once considered my sanctuary. I stole away on a ship to America. I came here to start afresh. I knew that if there was no place for me in Paris, then I could make one in America; the land of promise. I worked for years, designing buildings for all of the great companies. Some of them turned me down, partially because I was forced to do deals through post and telegram, but eventually I found I had made enough clients to hire a consultant who would do the deals for me and help my designing career to prosper. I designed offices, homes, restaurants, even skyscrapers. That one not far from here, far more handsome than the purposeless height of the Empire State Building—I believe you call it the Chrysler Building—was one of my crowning achievements. Yet I felt my passions wavering as the times turned to the struggles amongst the vicious happiness of the 20s. I found myself having a knack for designing secret rooms in the most unsuspecting of buildings. Prohibition gave me an outlet.

'I spent the decade designing speakeasies as the city had never seen. Rooms hidden not in the back of some building, but underground. Strategically placed about the city so as not to be disturbed by the subway trains. I would make secret doors in the backs of tailor shops, flowers boutiques, and even jazz cafés. Yes, my dear, this is of my own design. I spent so much time on these highly demanded pieces that I have amassed a small fortune, as I still do not require much. I am a fairly simple man, despite my tastes. I grew up needing nothing and even now find my wants are very few. I was wise, however, keeping my money safe and out of the risky game of the stock market.

'When the Depression hit, I decided I would retire. The city had no money and no use for my talents in architecture. I made a home for myself here, and here I have stayed. I have watched over this establishment since those two fools bought it. I need not regale you further on the innumerable headaches they have caused me over the years. Yet, through all of their tedious problems, I would not trade a single aggravation for missing the chance to meet you. You, my dearest Christine, are truly my shining achievement in my life of mishaps and odd successes.'

He turned now to see her tear stained face. She seemed numb. He almost wondered if it had all been too much. He feared what he would do if he had broken her. He took a step towards her, feeling panic rise in him at her despondency, but she looked up at him. She had tears still hanging on her lashes before a slightly tremoring breath sent them rolling down her cheeks.

'You were hurt in 1918?' she asked, already knowing the answer. He nodded, hoping that had not been the only part of his tale she had clung to. 'That was the year I was born,' she told him, choking on a laugh of a sob.

'I know. I am thirteen years your senior, my dear,' he told her patiently.

'Thirty-eight,' she said in a tone just above a whisper. 'How childish I must seem to you.'

'No, my darling, you are not a child to me,' he assured her gently but quickly.

'But you are so much more experienced in the world. All you have lived through, and all you have done. What have I done but grieve over my father and pretend to know what I want from my life?'

He crouched before her, resisting the urge to grasp her shoulders to keep her hysterical breaths steady. 'Christine, look at me, darling,' he commanded, feeling that a firm tone might just bring her distant eyes back to him. It did, and he gasped as she looked far deeper than she ever had before. He felt her touch the barrier around his heart. For her, he knew he would knock it down. For her…

'Christine, you are not childish to me. You are a beautiful, strong, talented woman who has simply lost her way. I want only to help you find it. Or to at least assist you as you make your own. I would never think you anything less than what you are: wonderful,' he told her, finally trailing his fingers over her arms gently for fear of scaring or potentially hurting her.

'What do you see in me?' she asked.

He looked at her, puzzled. 'I have just named—'

'No. Why do you think me worth your time?' she corrected him.

Erik paused for a moment, searching the dark recesses of his soul. Finally a light came on in him as he looked at her plainly. 'Because you thought me worth yours. No one has ever done that for me.'

Christine looked at him a moment, feeling the sincerity in his very eyes as he gazed deeply into her own. 'I don't know why I returned to you for lessons that night. I think I was lonely and wanted to feel needed,' she admitted for the first time to anyone, even herself. 'You seemed…lost. I can understand that.' She looked down at this, toying with her skirt.

'Christine,' he said, resisting the urge to lift up her chin. 'I have to know. Does any part of what I have told you scare you? Can you accept me as I am?' She met his gaze now, confusion written in her expression. 'Just say the word and I will fly from your side forever,' he told her, already leaning back in preparation for her dismissal.

Her eyes welled again, her lips trembling fiercely. 'You do scare me,' she confessed. 'But please don't leave me alone,' she begged, reaching out to claim his hands in hers.

Erik could not stop the gasp that escaped him just as he could not halt the few tears that slipped down his face. God, his face! If she only knew what lay beneath the mask, then she would not cling to him so. Yet, he would hide for all eternity if it meant she would stay here with him.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry for the late update, everyone! I got busy going to hardware stores with my father today. I promise an early chapter on Monday as we have an obscenely early flight back home. It's been nice visiting WA and I always miss it, but it will be good to be home again.**

Erik stayed there, kneeling on the floor before her as she continued to hold his hand like a life-line. He watched her fight back the tears which still managed to threaten, knowing they were for him. He did not let the fact that they were in pity enter his mind for more than half a moment. He would save this forever if he could. For the thousandth time since she had come to be in his life he found himself thinking, _if I died tomorrow,_ _then I would pass being the happiest man on Earth, for an angel has shed tears for me._

Yet as a bit of time passed and the moment came to an end, he realised she was crying for more than just him. Concern crept its way into his eyes as he watched her.

'Christine?' he asked as softly as he could. 'Christine, are you all right, my sweet?'

'I think so.' She sniffled. 'I'm sorry,' she muttered, hiding her face at her shamefully childish behaviour.

Erik's heart melted. Any chance of anger swept from him, leaving him guilty for even considering feeling it at all. He reached up to brush away a tear trail on her cheek, but refrained, curling his fingers back before they could touch her smooth and warm skin. He looked between his hand and her face a moment, noting how much longer his fingers and how much thinner his wrists were compared to hers. She was all of normal proportions and here he was, a monster in a monkey suit pretending to be a man. He could not help how he was built, but he could marvel at how perfect she was. Every bit of her was beautiful. Even when crying her eyes out, she was like an angel sent from Heaven. He knew she felt she was not as overwhelmingly gorgeous as she truly was, but he hoped constant doting would remedy that at least a little. To him she was a queen and he was a lowly servant graced by her presence. But this was not love, he reminded himself. He would have to find a flaw in her to breach the gap between love and infatuation. He must find something he did not like in her.

He could not do it, though. She was simply perfect. Her tears had made crystals seem dull, her eyes made the universe small, and her mouth made the red roses turn away in shame. She was everything. He could not have dreamt a lovelier angel.

'I'm sorry,' she said again, taking a shakily bracing breath.

'My dear, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. I have watched you these past four years and never have you shrunk from a challenge. Never have you deemed something too difficult to at least try. And forgive me for assuming, but I do not think you ever will. You are one of the strongest people I know. You are simply not confident in your strength,' he explained to her.

She looked down in thought. 'That's not true,' she at least admitted. 'I have shrunk from challenges. Every time Meg offers to find me someone, or tells me to be more forthcoming in charms to the customers, or whenever someone compliments me. I am not strong at those times.'

Erik released something of a growl at this which caught her off guard. 'Nor should you have to be in those ways. I would kill one of those men if he dared look at you as they look at that vivacious Giry girl. I would also reprimand you thoroughly if you dared to think you need to do the things she does.' He shook his head at this. 'Honestly, the youth of this day,' he muttered to a distant corner.

Christine sputtered a giggle. This gained her a confused but mildly happy eyebrow raise she could only see in the shape of his eyes. 'You sound like some fussy old man when you talk like that,' she teased at his questioningly persistent look.

'Age begets wisdom, my dear,' he purred, tilting his head cockily.

'Hmm, I highly doubt that is true in all cases,' she mused playfully. 'But I suppose I can make an exception to your breach in logic just this once.' She let in a specific little glint to her eye which made some fire in the pit of Erik's soul ignite.

'For that I thank you.' He bowed slightly.

She smiled at him for a bit, wondering how she had become so comfortable around a man who had frightened her. So much had changed in just these few hours with him. She felt she knew him better, but still feared what he would do to her. It was a mind numbingly painful tête-à-tête, her common sense was playing.

'Why does everything seem so easy with you?' she asked more to herself than him.

Erik did nothing to hide his shock at this statement. He had expected many things and wished for many more, but this was never one of either grouping. He had never in his life been told his presence was easy or comfortable. Generally, people thought he was in the way or troublesome. Even when they did not instantly shun him, he was always greeted by aloof eyes and intimidated stances. But now he held the most precious thing in the world in his hand and she actually initiated it. Christine had always been surprising, but this was especially so.

'My dearest,' he said, changing the tone of his voice to add a bit of life to it again and break the intensity of the moment he was certain he would relive in his mind every chance he got. 'Was there anything you wished to do today?'

She looked stunned that he would be so forthcoming in his desire to entertain her and keep her from boredom. In his opinion, enough time had been spent with them either apart or crying or both.

She bit her lip and looked down as if she were unsure of his approval of her suggestion. He knew it should not have, but his heart clenched at the sight.

'Could we sing?' she asked in a small voice.

Erik was very close to tilting her chin up and purring the words to her, but his own excitement got in the way of such a charming act. 'Of course!' he all but cried, nearly leaping to his feet on slightly stiffened legs. He would remind himself not to stay on the floor so long again. He helped her stand up, relishing the feeling of her skin on his.

He led her out of the living room and into the hallway, heading straight for the farthest door she had not yet dared to enter. He paused outside of it, turning to face her with a hand clasped formally behind his back.

'I do not wish to alarm you, but given the structure of my home, I had no other place for a piano than in my bedroom,' he told her, praying she would understand how painfully uncomfortable this conversation was for him. He did not wish to presume her thoughts, but nor did he want to scare her into thinking them wrongly.

To her credit, she kept her face relaxed and only turned to look expectantly at the door. He took another bracing breath and opened it.

The room very much mirrored her own. The bed was against the wall with the bathroom door and an armoire beside the main door. However, where her room felt floral and delicate, his felt dark and heavy. His walls were of a deep, rich red, rivalling even the hallway and dining room. His furniture was of a black ebony that glistened slightly in the faint light given off by the lamp beside his piano and across from his bed.

Further inspection of the room revealed something she had not anticipated. His bed was not a bed. In fact, it was hardly ever considered a place for the living to rest. Erik apparently slept in a coffin.

Christine took a few steps out of the room at this sight, her eyes wide with horror. Erik hung his head, not meeting her gaze. He looked as though he had held this position for centuries.

'I never said I was normal or sane, Christine.' He spoke in a soft voice to the floor.

'Y-you have a-a coffin in your room,' she stuttered, pointing at it with a trembling hand.

'That would be my bed.' He sounded like he was saying something painfully obvious but his downcast posture suggested he was being more contrite.

'Why?'

He looked at her as though this question had never even crossed his mind. 'They are actually wonderfully comfortable.' He thought little of his choice in bed, but perhaps it was unusual. He had something of a tendency for eccentricities before, but his morbid knowledge that he would never belong again in society only helped this.

'Erik,' she paused, looking between him and it as though she were waiting for one to strike.

'Christine, would you like to have our lesson?' he asked as though this were the first suggestion of it. He used one of his convincing tones that always made her mind feel as though it were sifting through a thick fog. She found herself nodding and following him to the piano before she knew what had happened.

The break into consciousness was soon ended, however, when he began playing. It all faded away when his fingers coaxed those slender keys into life. He produced sound unlike anything else available on the Earth and she was struck dumb by the sheer majesty of it all. He deserved to play in the great concert halls of the world, but instead he played for her in his underground home. She was moved by how beautiful such a sentiment was, yet how tragic the loss of his talent was to the whole of humanity. He swept through song after song, occasionally nodding to her to join him, but their lesson had quickly fallen to him keeping his spell on her mind intact. Should he stop, they both feared her panic would rise again and he would go back to calming her. He played on and on, lulling her into a state of contentment until something in her mind snapped free.

It stretched its tendril of thought out and coaxed the rest of her into motion. She came closer to him, standing at his back. Slowly, so as not to disturb his playing, she put her hands on his shoulders. She let them rest there until the suddenly tensed muscles underneath relaxed once more. She heard his breathing change yet his fingers continued their dance across the ivory and thin ebonies.

Bringing her thumbs to his back, she soothed them into the tight muscles of his neck and shoulders, making every kink work out. She listened as his breathing rushed out in almost laboured pants. She worked her hands in closer to his neck, feeling the purr of his growl vibrating in his throat. His head leaned back at her coaxing to rest just under the level of her chin.

She let her hands continue on their upward travels, her mind telling her over and over again, _you said yourself he was easy to be around. Why not test that? Surely if he has been so nice to you and even proclaimed to love you, then he would let you see. What harm could a little peek do? How bad could it—_

Her mind never got to finish that thought as she pulled the mask away only to hear one of the most painful sounds her ears had ever known. Gone was her calm and gentle Erik who only wished to make her happy. Gone was the man being swept away by her kind caresses while he played the piano. Gone was the weeping child who she had comforted in her gentle arms. This was someone else before her. Some _thing_ else.

Staggering back, she tripped over the edge of a rug which she now realised to be splayed out across the floor. She landed hard and looked up in horror to see the looming figure of the man who once civilly called himself Erik, towering in a mass of dark hatred and shadows. She could hear his every fibre seething at her act of apparent betrayal, yet words to the contrary died in her throat.

 _'_ _What have you done?!'_ Her thoughts and his words blended together into a sickeningly sharp accusation that cut through her very soul.

'I-I,' she stuttered, no longer capable of forming real words.

'You're sorry?!' he thundered, making her shrink even farther from him. 'But isn't this what you wanted? Proof that Erik is the monster you thought him to be? Well, go ahead and look!' he yelled, spreading his arms wide as if to display more of his self-proclaimed monstrosity.

Christine looked into the dark pits of his eyes, at the pinpoints of golden light emanating from them. His sallow cheeks horribly contrasted by his too prominent bone structure made her flinch even farther away. His mangled flesh, lack of nose, all of it awful and revealed because of her own traitorously foolish mind.

'Turning away? Oh, no! You will see your Erik! You will see the monster who loves you!' He lunged forward and grabbed her shoulders, harshly yanking them to face him so that he might bear down his ravaged features into her perfect ones. 'Do I scare you now, Christine?! Does this demon from Hell make you wish you had never accepted his offer?!'

Tears slipped free from her tightly closed lids. A sobbing breath gasped in her throat.

'Why do you cry now?' he asked as if in a daze. Her emotional state had made his grasp loosen. A hollowness began to come to his eyes. 'Why…why...?' he muttered, letting his hands slip from her and hang at his sides. He looked at nothing in particular as he crept back to a straightened standing position. 'Why?!' he burst out, only this time with tears choking his voice. 'Why could you not leave it be? I-I would have done anything for you Christine. Anything you asked of me,' he all but sobbed, looking down at her with painful accusation.

Christine felt guilt driving her tears. She realised as she looked into those golden eyes that she had hurt him beyond measure. Perhaps that was setting things back to where they should be in the situation, but it had truly been unintentional. She had wanted to believe so desperately that she could accept whatever he hid. If he could be so kind and gentle, and yes, she did pity him for being broken, why could she not help him by looking past at least this flaw? But now she had destroyed that. What scared her now was his emphasis on "would have". _What happens now?_ She thought fearfully.

He crumpled to his knees, hanging his head, and letting his hands fall to the floor like broken wings. He looked like a shot bird, alive, but unable to fly. A strange contrast to the beastly form he had taken in his rage.

Slinking forward carefully, she crawled over to his sob-shaking back. She reached out a hand to him, but knew it would be in vain. She had damaged too much. Rescinding her momentarily proffered fingers, she stood up. Picking up the mask from where it lay, she placed it delicately beside him and left the room without a sound.

'You will return tomorrow as promised,' he muttered through tears as she hung in the doorway to hear him. 'You need never hear or see me again.'

Christine wavered. She put her hand to the doorjamb and listened to the sounds of his crying. For a man without a nose, he certainly sniffled well. He had yet to put his mask back on, as he held it almost reverently in his hands, turning it over and over. He glared at it as it rested, face down, and ready to be replaced.

'Erik,' she said before she could will herself to think better of it. She already winced when she realised what she was doing. 'Sometimes things on the inside are scarier than things on the outside. And sometimes it's whether we feed the good or the bad in us that makes the difference,' she told him without turning.

'But it does frighten you,' he guessed without the faintest tinge of hope.

'Yes,' she muttered after a shudder of remembrance of not only what she had seen, but that it was mere feet behind her. 'But what scared me more was your fear.' She looked over her shoulder, then, inwardly thanking God that he had now replaced the mask.

Erik shook his head. 'It was anger that drove me. Hate has long driven me, my dear.'

'Fear and anger are the same emotion,' she told him, meeting his forlorn eye before leaving the room.

Erik sat there, looking at everything and nothing. His life had been a lie since the moment she had walked into that café. No, the moment he looked in that damned mirror in Paris. No, not even then. It had ended when he thought himself old enough to be a man. Perhaps had he not joined the war, he could have died a poor orphan. He would surely have drifted away in a strong winter breeze and no one would have known any different. No one would have cared or wept for him. He would just be another lost soul. But Christine would cry for him. Somehow she would have known to cry.

On a happier day he would have wondered if maybe somehow he would have survived and managed to be the same man, just without his awful cursed face. He might have wooed her then. He could have impressed her as that boy did with beautiful, perfect smiles. He would have charmed her and swept her off her feet in an instant and she would be his. But instead he was doomed to rot away in his hole in the ground, worshipping an angel who he would be lucky to earn a second glance from.

Slowly getting up, he once more ignored the complaint of his knees for staying there so long. He crept with resigned silence to the door of Christine's bedroom. He knew she was in there, he had heard her walk in.

Sitting down with his back against the wall beside the door, he listened to her muffled sobs. Had he had any strength left within him, he would have sung to her, but as it stood he would be in tears with her if he tried. He felt pitiful and useless, but could not fully care. He would listen to her through the door as he had watched her through the mirror; apart and only with longing in his heart. No fulfilment, just continued longing for things he could never have.

Eventually he heard her breathing steady and slow to what he assumed to be sleep. Standing, he silently opened her door and peeked in. She was on her bed, laying on her stomach with her face turned away from the door and arms hugging the pillow, she looked peaceful. He walked towards her, keeping everything silent so as not to disturb her. He thought about reaching out to touch her hair in its tantalising curls, but did not dare.

'Thank you, Christine. Thank you for giving me this. My one hope is that you will find a way to think fondly of me somehow. It may not be love, but I do care about you. With all my heart, I care,' he vowed to her in whispered adoration. With one last glance, he left, head hung in sorrow.

From her place on the bed, Christine wiped away a tear. Lying away, she went over the words he had spoken. She thought over the same question that had been plaguing her since the previous night, only this time with a different meaning behind it. _What was happening to her?_


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Promise kept. Sorry, it's just too damned early to talk intricately. Wish me luck in my flight back home. 5 hours or so. Ugh. I hate airplanes.**

Christine woke up, bleary eyed as she used to when she was a child. Mornings always seemed so much harsher back then. Her dreams were fuzzier and more interesting, and when she woke up she would drive her face into her father, groaning about the morning light in her sensitive eyes. He would always chuckle and smile, lifting her up to hold her close and tell her all of the beautiful things he saw each time the sun rose.

 _'_ _I see birds flying in the soft blue sky, I see flowers opening and sparkling like jewels with their dew drops, I see little insects scurrying about, but most of all I see you. You are my most beautiful morning sight. You are my greatest treasure, my little Christine.'_

She blinked away a stray tear at the memory, remembering how he would blow into her neck, making her peal with laughter. His beard, already speckled with grey from years of stress, would tickle her. His hearty laugh still rung in her ears and she could see in her mind's eye the way his bright blue eyes would twinkle when he smiled.

Sitting up in bed, she looked about her room drearily. She wondered why she called it hers when it felt so foreign. The bedroom she had stayed in at an inn when travelling with her father had felt homier than this. She wondered what made the circumstances so much worse here.

Ignoring the grumbling of her stomach, she put on the dress she had worn for the performance now two nights before. It did not feel right to wear clothes Erik had given her outside of his home. She had crept out sometime last night to find an apple in the kitchen. The house had seemed empty, but his door was closed and she did not have the heart to disturb him. She had nothing to say. No words could make anything better. She did not even know what she should be feeling at this moment. Was it fear, hatred, pity, desperation? She simply did not know.

She walked over to the bathroom door, staring at the knob for a small eternity as she wondered if she should knock first. Surely he would have locked it if he did not wish her to enter. She opened it just a crack and peeked in. It was empty and the door to his room was resolutely closed. She hurried in, doing what she needed to quickly and quietly, absently wondering what time it was and if perhaps he was still sleeping.

After cleaning her face in the sink, she went back to her room and brushed her hair. It was slightly knotted from the lack of her usual care. She felt wrinkled and bedraggled. Staring at her bedroom door for a minimally longer eternity, she finally opened it and stepped out into the hallway.

Looking into the living room, she noticed that the elevator door was plainly opened. She felt some unseen force urge her forward. She could escape and be free from this place! She let her feet take a step forward until something in the dining room caught her eye.

She already knew what it would be, the dark mass hunched over the wood table in the seat facing the kitchen door. She knew without doubt or question that it would be foolish of her to potentially turn away her freedom. She was supposed to be scared of this place, right? She was meant to feel fear at the sight of the man who had kept her here against her will. Or was it? Had he not offered the day before to leave her alone forever if she wished it? Yet she had rewarded him by staying, even asking him to stay with her. Perhaps she was a fool. Perhaps she would die down here, or would simply disappear for so long that her friends would forget about her. _Silly old Christine_ , they would say. _Poor thing was just too far gone._

Turning herself away from the shining ray of hope and normality, she walked into the dining room to what she now assumed to be her insanely chosen fate. She walked down the hall, feeling every step wrack through her as a screaming and glaring mistake. And yet, she could not deny that seeing Erik so contorted with pain and sorrow yesterday had hurt her deeply. She wondered what could make such a strong, poised man like him crumble. He worked so hard, from his perfectly smoothed hair to his spotless suits to seem normal and like any other man. Truly, she knew that was what he wanted more than anything. He wanted to be the human he was denied when his naivety took its price. He wanted to be a man who could love her, but he did not know what love was.

Walking into the room, she looked at his back as he propped his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. Even through the fine black jacket, she could see the protrusions of his vertebrae and even the outline of his ribcage. His long, spindly fingers stretched over the edges of the mask she could tell was in place. His hair, though mostly in perfect order, was slightly ruffled at the back and top. Mostly likely he had been fretting, waiting on her to get up and leave him for good. He probably did not expect a good bye, and for a moment—she realised with a pang—she had not intended to give him one.

She wondered for the briefest instant if she should just do as he anticipated and silently creep back to the living room and make her exit from this strange world he had brought her into. And though all logic told her to do just that, she instead reached out a hand to touch his curving shoulder.

No sooner had she felt the outermost fibres of his jacket than he had disappeared from under her hand. She leapt back a bit in surprise when she looked to see him standing beside the table. He had nearly knocked the chair over in his haste. He stood there, tall and lean, breathing a bit labouredly as his eyes roamed her face uncertainly.

They stared at each other in silence a moment, not knowing what to say.

'I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of me,' she told him shakily, not knowing what else to start with. Truly, she had hoped her mind would come up with something better than that, but she took what she was given.

'I-it was my privilege and pleasure,' he assured her hurriedly, as if afraid she would think poorly of him otherwise.

She tried a small smile, but it faded instantly. She remained silent, looking at the floor between them.

'I could make you breakfast before you go,' he offered, trying to sound casual.

She shook her head. 'No, thank you. I'm all right.' She ignored the hungry twist of her stomach.

Erik nodded as if this were crucial information, though clearly disappointed. He seemed to search the room for his next words, but quickly gave up. He was tired of hoping for something that would not come.

'The elevator is waiting for you,' he told her with cold resignation. He sounded like a man who was giving away his reason to live.

Christine looked up. His head was tilted downward as he looked at the floor beside her. His golden eyes looked utterly defeated.

'Would you take me up?' she asked, feeling something between pity and sympathy driving her words.

Erik looked at her as though she had just run him through with a rusty sword. He had intended to let the sounds of his elevator going up be the sounds of his death. He did not much care if she sent it back down for him. Without her, he felt no reason to return to the world above. He had wanted them to part this way. Still, he knew he could deny her nothing.

'Of course.' He answered with a hollow echo of his formerly charming and enchanting voice. He gestured to the doorway with his hand. To his pained surprise, she wavered, looking at his proffered hand as though she intended to take it, but she did not. He watched all his hopes leave him as she turned and walked out and toward the source of her freedom.

He followed her at a respectful distance, keeping any hint of threat from his movements. He watched her enter the elevator and turn to him expectantly. He hesitated before joining her in the crowded space. He was beginning to regret his decision as he shared the same air as her. Moving the lever had never been so hard before.

His heart went to his throat when the lurching movement of the lift caused her to bump into his side unexpectedly. He held a sob in his throat as he fought hard against the urge to reach out and hold her to him. He would cry into her perfect hair and beg like an animal for her to stay. For her to say that she would look back on this time with one small ounce of happiness. He wanted to plead with her, to make her cry with him and understand how much he cared for her. He wanted her to stay. He wanted her.

But instead, he let the moment pass as if it were nothing. He had hoped that perhaps when the lift stopped it would make a similar motion, but she was more prepared and did not touch him beyond the edge of his sleeve. When he realised that it was time, he felt his chest tighten painfully. He opened the doors and stepped out into the pitch black hall behind the closets of the café. It was wide enough for nearly three people because of the elevator's size, but he still felt her hesitate.

In an act he was certain was pure insanity, he offered his hand to guide her. He felt a tear finally slip free along with a gasp when she rested her softly smooth palm in his. His fingers nearly wrapped all the way round her tiny hand as he kept a feather light touch upon her. He walked with a gentle slowness, though dragging the moment out only hurt him more.

When they reached the mirror, he paused, pressing the hidden button to make the glass swing open. He wavered, still holding her hand. He felt her eyes upon him, perhaps questioningly. He closed his eyes and tried to memorise every single sensation her contact brought. He tried to remember every second of the paradise her presence had been. He tried to remember what it was like to be happy.

'Erik?' she asked at length.

'I will miss you,' he whispered, barely audible.

Christine felt her eyes widen and well up. 'You mean you won't teach me anymore?' She felt her mind lurch. Suddenly she was a child again, sitting in that painfully white room as the doctor told her that her father only had a month left.

Erik closed his eyes harder. Why was she doing this to him? Why could she not see what pain this was causing? How could she not know that seeing her only through glass would kill him? Then he looked down and saw, through the darkness he had always seen in better than light, that she was staring at him with panicking shock.

'Do you want me to?' he asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.

She stared into the darkness, seeing his oddly shining eyes. She pleaded with them silently as tears continued to threaten. 'I don't know what I want anymore.'

He looked at her in amazement as her lips began to quiver. It would kill him, but for her he would endure it all. 'Then I shall teach you until you wish me to stop,' he told her gently, daring to trace her cheek with the back of his fingers. He did not touch her, but he could feel the heat of her skin on his cold flesh. She was far too beautiful.

'You will?' She looked up at him with her lovely eyes and he felt himself smile just a bit at their innocent sentiments.

'Of course, my dear,' he promised her, before begrudgingly leading her into the dressing room, warning her of the ledge of the mirror so she would not trip again.

Letting go of her fingers proved to be the hardest task of all as he retreated into the shadows of his hallway and closed the door. He watched her through the glass as she continued to stand there, staring at the place he had been. His hand felt cold as her warmth left it. He wanted to preserve that touch. He wanted to hold it to him in the hopes that it would stay. He would not feel quite so alone if he had a bit of her to remember.

At length she left the dressing room, probably going off to her apartment to get ready for her other job. He still gritted his teeth at the idea of her needing to work so hard simply to live. He had watched her these past years and noted she wore the same clothes, some looking a bit aged, while that Giry girl would come in with the latest fashions. He did not hate Meg, but he did resent that his darling should have to struggle while she prospered so easily. Part of it, of course, was that Meg and her mother shared an apartment, so the rent was split between them, whereas Christine was on her own. Maybe now that she was singing as well as working in the café, she would make more. If not, he would have to see to lowering her needed payments. Anonymous donations would be too suspicious, and he did not wish to forge her flowing signature—though he knew he could. He would find some way around it. For her…

He stepped out of the elevator into his living room and felt all ambition and confidence leave him. Everything looked so empty and grey without her shining light to illuminate it. He needed her.

Walking to her room, he felt the tears and sobs escape without a care. He could smell her sweetness in the dress she left hanging up in the closet. He clung to it and wept.

* * *

Stepping out into the grey morning light felt oddly refreshing. It felt like she had been sequestered away from the world for an age. It occurred to her now how much she loved windows and being able to see the daylight. She took in what she hoped to be a nice breath of cool air, but found the pollution from the exhaust still stung a bit. Paris had seemed a little cleaner somehow. Cities were cities, but Paris, though crowded, did not seem so tightly packed.

On her walk back to her apartment, she looked up at the tall buildings around her. She began to wonder for the first time who had built them. More importantly, she wondered if Erik had put a hand into their design. She caught a glance of the Chrysler Building and felt a part of her cringe with how sad she had made him by leaving. He had promised, however, and it would be wicked to go against such a vow as allowing her freedom.

Trudging up the stairs to her own room, she passed the Girys' door. Thinking for a moment about the time, she decided not to wake them. She ducked into her own apartment, scribbled a quick note, and walked to their letter slot. She stopped, thinking that perhaps they had not noticed her absence. She did not want to drag herself or Erik into a series of odd questions if she did not need to. She would wait to see if Meg or Mrs. Giry said anything before divulging she had left at all.

Traipsing through her own small apartment felt strange somehow. She had not realised she had missed it, or ever expected to leave it for somewhere else. Thinking about it now, it occurred to her that she never thought about leaving. She never wondered what would happen if she married, as she really had no desire or realistic expectations to do so. She yearned to be happy, but it seemed such a distant desire when compared to all of her many responsibilities. She had so much on her plate as it was. She had to sing, work at the bookshop, make ends meet, and try to find time to be herself. She felt the last one slipping some days more than others. She supposed that was what she liked about the lessons with Erik. She could be herself and do something she liked without trying to make it into a task. She could sing and be happy. But now she had it as a job. Now she had _him_ to worry about.

Plopping down on her bed, she put her arm over her eyes. Still, it did not rid her of the vision of Erik with his eyes so full of sorrow while he returned her. She knew she had hurt him the moment she had asked him to go with her to the mirror, but she could not help but be glad for it. She was not sure what would have happened, and neither would she be certain as to whether their lessons were still going or not.

She released a groan as she realised she would have to change her mind set when around him. It was no longer some voice who may or may not be real. He was a person, living, breathing, and hurting. She also remembered faintly that Raoul was in New York and probably muddled as to why she had not joined him. He had been rather pushy about going out together, but he deserved better than her up and disappearing. Too much. It was too much to worry about now. She would try to sleep and then deal with it all as it came.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Oh my God! I am so incredibly sorry I forgot to post this yesterday. I have somewhat forgotten what day it is. I've also been skatterbrained because I have my first singing recital tomorrow. I'm going to sing** ** _Part of Your World_** **from** ** _The Little Mermaid_** **. Please forgive me for the delay, though. At any rate, here we are!**

Raoul had been beyond confused when he had come to pick Christine up in her dressing room. He had been sure to give her plenty of time to get ready, and had been a gentleman and knocked on her door. But when he heard muffled talking on the other side of it, he began to wonder. Perhaps one of the two women who worked here had come to see her and congratulate her, but upon pressing his ear to the door, he realised that it was a man's voice. He heard that it was fairly accented in French, so it could not possibly be the native New Yorker managers of the Majestic. The clipped warning of her singing teacher came to mind and he began to worry about her. She had said her tutor would not be pleased about a night off for her to enjoy herself, and he started to bristle at the thought of this man controlling her so much. She deserved to have a break just like anyone else!

Knocking harder on the door, he called in. 'Christine! Christine, let me in,' he beseeched. 'I know you're in there, Christine, I just want to talk to you,' he tried to sound less commanding. He was talking through a dressing room door, after all. Were it not for the look of fear he had seen in her eyes earlier at his proposal of going out, he would have thought she was trying to brush him off. She had been scared, though, and not of him.

Trying the knob, he found the door locked. He waited another moment, hearing no sound within. Knocking on her door was one thing, but breaking it down was entirely another. She would certainly be frightened if, after seeing him for the first time in fifteen years, he returned by slamming into her room uninvited. He had an excuse, but perhaps he truly was not wanted.

'Christine, if you don't want to see me, just say so. I'm worried about you,' he called in one more time, ready to trudge away with his head hung low, and not bother her again. When only silence replied, however, he determined that it was reason enough to check on her. What if something bad had happened?

Firmly kicking the door, he burst into the now darkened room. He fumbled in the blackness for the light switch, calling her name into the gloom. He blinked when the lights finally came on, but was amazed when he saw no one in the room. It was empty apart from the shabby furniture and piles of boxes shoved in the corner.

'Christine!' he cried perhaps a bit louder than necessary into the room, but heard no reply.

He wondered to himself if she had slipped out while he was in the café. He had not seen any back doors, but if she had gone passed while he had his back turned…yet he had heard her voice! He remembered hearing her, faintly, talking to someone. She had been talking to a man in this very room.

Shaking his head, he left, turning out the light and hoping to find her in the main area of the café. He may have been hearing things. Or maybe the sound had travelled into the hallway. Yes, that had to have been it. She might have been talking to someone near the stage and the noise had carried. The back of the raised platform was only curtains, after all. Though he could have sworn her voice was coming from the dressing room, there was no possible way for her to have been in there. It must have been a trick of the sound.

Only, he walked to the main room to find it empty apart from the two women who had been there all evening. He recognised the blonde as she had spoken to him briefly when serving him his drink, but did not know the older woman. He felt his heart clench when they looked at him questioningly. He knew just by the looks on their faces that they would not have the answer he was hoping for.

'Excuse me,' he addressed, remembering his manners even though his mind was racing. 'Have either of you seen Christine come through here? I went to her dressing room, but she wasn't there,' he asked, feeling a pit forming in his stomach.

'No, we haven't seen her since the show. Is everything all right?' the younger of the two replied. She was a pretty little thing with big, round, blue eyes.

'We were going to go out, but I can't seem to find her,' he explained, looking around the room as if expecting Christine to walk out from around a corner at any moment.

'Perhaps she is waiting outside,' the older woman suggested, gazing at him with eyes that were unnerving. She seemed to be looking through him in suspicion.

Raoul nodded dazedly, muttering a thanks to the women before ducking out the door into the late April evening. The lights of New York were like a thousand fireflies, and the sounds of the constant hustle and bustle of the city were matched with the inebriated shouts of people trying to stumble home. A brief worry came over Raoul as he heard these. What if she had been taken by one of those drunkard fools?

'Christine!' he called, looking up and down the mostly empty street. He felt his breath mist in front of him and a chill run up his spine. Only the former was from the cold. Something was not quite right about this whole arrangement, and he did not know what he was going to do about it.

Turning, he determined to go back home and return the following day to see what had happened. He walked along the streets of the city, ignoring the cheers of the far too happy to be sane, and the cat calls from more than a few women. He let it all wash past him. He was busy trying to figure out the mystery of Christine's disappearance. If he knew any better, he would say her enigmatic singing teacher was behind it. She had seemed uncertain as to how to classify this man. She clearly thought a lot of him, and why should she not? He had given her a great gift in her voice, but maybe there was more to it.

He considered going to the police, but it seemed too thin an argument to be worth anything. He had only seen her for a few minutes and she had seemed slightly less than enthused to go out with him. Perhaps she was simply avoiding him.

He let his feet fall heavily on the stairs to his apartment, noting the ruckus across the hall. In a few weeks' time, he would be returning to the bunks on the ship for sleep. In a few weeks' time he would be miles away from Christine and New York. Still, he felt the need to know her again. He needed to see her smile and laugh as they had as kids. He remembered well his childish vow to love her forever, never guessing that he would meet her again fifteen years later, but hoping—he had always hoped to see her again. No one had meant quite so much to him as she had. Every girl he had known—and there were not many—had always fallen short of the effortlessly wonderful Christine Daaé.

Slumping down onto his bed, he only bothered to take off his shoes and jacket. He would not have need for his dress shirts when on the ship. He had long memorised the map along the coast, picking up sailors in a few towns along the way, then coming back to New York for a few days before shipping off again only this time into the thick of it. He would be going to war and finally doing a bit of good in this world.

He would be just like his father, who had fought in the last war and only died of tuberculosis on the trip back. This had left Raoul's older brother, Phillip, to handle the family affairs so their grieving mother could rest. Raoul had never known his father, having been born a month after the man died, but Phillip had been a big help to their small family, picking up the pieces and becoming a man far too soon.

He had wanted to escape the Nazi controlled Paris, so he had journeyed over to America. Raoul remembered his poor mother crying when he had told her he was going to join the Navy. She had wept, saying it was just like his father all over again. Phillip had encouraged him to follow his passion, though. His older brother, more like a father than a sibling at fifteen years his senior, had always managed to make time for him as a child and continued to as best he could as they both grew. Phillip was set to be married to a beautiful heiress in England within the year, setting their family off well, and Raoul was going to join the war in a few weeks. At least one son would be able to look after their mother.

Letting memories of his mother and brother fill his mind happily, he drifted off to sleep with the hope of finding Christine come morning.

* * *

Easter Sunday. Damn.

Raoul looked at the calendar on his sparse wall with disdain. He knew the café would not be open today and he would be forced to wait even longer to see Christine again. He cursed under his breath, something he knew his mother would disapprove of. He had learned a lot in the Navy training, including enough to give him the famous moniker "mouth like a sailor". Or maybe it was infamous. He knew better than to use such language on shore, though. He would keep his good name by being a perfect gentleman. His mother had not raised a poorly mannered son.

Walking over to the window above his kitchen sink, he looked out across the crowded skyline of New York. One day there would be so many buildings, he doubted if anyone would be able to see the sun! He wanted to see it all; to see it safe from the dark clouds of war.

Raoul shook his head, turning away from the darker thoughts of what lay just across the ocean. He wanted to see Christine's happy eyes shining from beneath the slight swish of her curling, coffee coloured hair. She had always been so beautiful. He had asked her when they were children how she had come to be so pretty. She had blushed and looked away, saying something about her father calling her mother an angel. He had long taken this to be the truth and reasonable explanation for her beauty. She had been so easy to be around, back then. Even with the few moments they had shared, his heart had felt at ease around her. He wondered if maybe it was meant to be.

A knock at his front door brought him out of his fanciful reverie. He was unsurprised to find one of his soon to be shipmates leaning on his doorjamb with a solid grin plastered on his face.

'Hey, what's got you up so early?' Raoul asked, noting his friend's alertness after the noisy evening he knew the guys from the ship often had. This one, Tom, lived down the hall from him and often made, what he considered to be, good use of his dwindling time on shore.

'Wondering what's got you sleeping so early last night,' Tom said nonchalantly. 'I heard you went to go see that dame at the music bar last night.'

'Jazz café,' Raoul quietly corrected. 'And no, well, yes. It's complicated.' He shrugged, not really in the mood to get into it.

'Complicated! Damn, you sound like a girl I knew back in Yonkers. I mean, did you get the girl, or didn't 'cha?'

'Not really. She disappeared on me,' Raoul admitted, looking down.

'Well, come on and tell me about it!' Tom urged, coming in at Raoul's nod of an invitation. Despite how he talked sometimes, anyone would have guessed Tom was a top-class businessman. He came from a long line of lawyers and politicians in New York, and Raoul often wondered what made Tom join the military in the first place. He could be a straight faced kind of guy who often dragged all the others out of trouble. He reminded Raoul of Phillip. He could still be just as silly as the next guy, but knew when to get his head out of the joke.

'Well,' Raoul rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the stare of his friend. 'She was this girl I knew back in France when we were both very young. Her name's Christine and I had quite the crush on her, but we lost touch after only seeing each other a few weeks. Life got in the way until yesterday when I saw her again. She was singing at the café and God was she amazing. I've never heard anything like it.'

Raoul gazed off into space, thinking of her wonderful voice, hardly hearing the whistle from Tom or his muttered, 'He's in deep.'

'I went to see her backstage after the show and she was glad to see me, but was acting all funny. When I came back to take her out to dinner, she was gone. I looked for her, but it was like she had just disappeared,' he said with a frustrated sigh.

'Dames. Who knows what they're thinking?' Tom said, hoping his jovial tone would brighten Raoul's solemn mood.

'But I'm worried something might have happened to her,' Raoul insisted.

'I'm sure she's fine,' Tom spoke up, sounding very knowledgeable. 'You can go there tomorrow night and see what's what.'

'Yeah, I guess so. She mentioned something about a strict music teacher, is all. Something about him didn't sound right. She was acting kind of scared,' Raoul told his friend, wondering if he should have held his tongue.

'You're a big strong guy, aren't 'cha?' Tom asked. Raoul nodded slowly. 'Well, then, I think a silly old music teacher won't stand a chance against someone like you. Besides, you got me and the boys to back you up if things get rough,' he told him with a confident smile.

Raoul knew Tom was only trying to be helpful, but he still looked a little pale at the idea of having to fight for Christine. 'I wouldn't want to hurt her,' he muttered to himself.

'Of course you wouldn't, and no one's saying you will,' Tom insisted, standing up to come and clap him on the back in reassurance. 'I'm sure there's nothing you need to be worrying about. This Christine of yours just needs a little time to get to know you again.'

'But I only have a couple of weeks before I ship out,' Raoul protested, looking more and more distraught.

'And that's plenty of time to win her over. Did she say she was serious about this music teacher of hers?'

'No, she said she cared about him, but not like that,' Raoul explained, feeling hope returning to him.

'Then you've got nothing to worry about. She'll be falling for you in an instant,' Tom assured. 'Now, why don't we go roam about the city on this Easter Sunday? I hear they're having an Easter Parade down 5th Avenue.' He gave his friend a winning grin and a slight nudge.

'Oh, all right,' Raoul relented at last, deciding to join his now cheering friend for a day on the town. It was not like he would be able to look for Christine today, anyway.

* * *

Raoul got in late that night, but woke up almost as early the next morning, eager to begin his search for Christine. He walked determinedly down to 44th West to the small café, ready to stand outside the door for the whole day if necessary. He was surprised to get there at the same time as two other men who had a key.

'Excuse me, gentlemen, but I was looking for a Ms. Christine Daaé,' he said in his best formal voice. The men seemed to jump out of their skins a bit at his sudden appearance but quickly calmed.

'Oh, she won't be in until much later,' one said while the other wrestled with the door.

'Oh,' Raoul looked down, feeling deflated.

'Damned thing! This building's never making sense,' the man with the key cursed, kicking the door slightly.

'Careful of your blood pressure, Andrews,' the other man sighed.

'May I?' Raoul asked, gesturing to the door.

'Be my guest,' the one called Andrews spat at the door in contempt.

Raoul had to admit that it was somewhat difficult, but putting his shoulder into it proved to do the trick. He held his hand out as if presenting it to the two men.

'Thank you so much. We have been meaning to get that fixed. Hmm, I suppose it's a bit too early to offer you a drink Mr…?' the kinder and less frazzled of the two said.

'Chagny. Raoul Chagny,' he said cordially, following them in and looking about again, vainly hoping to see Christine hidden somewhere.

'Any relation to the actor?' Andrews asked.

'Pardon?' Raoul looked at him in utter confusion.

'You know, the one who plays the gangsters so well. He was in a picture a couple years back about…what's his name? He sings about being born on the fourth of July.' He waved the air as though it were of general knowledge.

'Oh, no, it's Chagny, not Cagney. I'm French,' Raoul explained.

'He was damned good in that one, what was it? Public Enemy,' Andrews continued, not really showing he was listening.

'Forgive my associate, he's a little distracted in the mornings. He likes to count the days until retirement,' the other explained after a roll of his eyes. 'My name is Richard Firmin, by the way.' He held out his hand to Raoul as they headed to one of the doors at the far end of the room.

'Pleasure to meet you. I take it you two are the owners of this place?' Raoul asked, deciding he might as well be friendly while he was here. It might give him some insight into this mysterious teacher of Christine's.

'Own it? No! We are only the managers,' Firmin brushed off, ushering Raoul into the cramped office.

'Then who does own it, if you don't mind my asking?' he pressed, finding the answer a little strange.

The men were silent, sharing a glance between them. 'You say you were looking for Ms. Daaé?' Firmin asked, seemingly ignoring the question.

'Yes, she's an old friend of mine,' Raoul answered, feeling like a mouse in a room of cats. 'Why?'

They looked to each other again, Andrews even put down his newspaper to look at him intently.

'You'd best leave her be, lad,' Andrews said in warning.

'What? Why? What's happened?' Raoul asked, panic instantly rising in his throat.

'Calm down, lad. There's nothing to be overly scared about, it's just that…' Firmin trailed off, leaving his hand on Raoul's shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

Raoul felt like a broken record, ready to ask the same questions all over again.

'Well,' Firmin said after an excruciatingly long pause. 'Perhaps you should read it for yourself,' he said, digging in his jacket pocket to pull out a piece of folded paper. Something told Raoul that this would not be a pleasant letter. He had felt something building at some point the night he went to see Christine, and now it was more and more obvious that there was something serious going on.


	15. Chapter 15

_My dear managers,_

 _Although you have thus far proved yourselves to be completely inept at handling anything to do with this café beyond ordering new cases of drinks—though I am now informed that that responsibility has been shirked to Mrs. Giry—I would ask that you do me the honour of using your heads and seeing to the one duty you have managed to retain, namely, assigning a singer._

 _As it may have somehow managed to get through your thick heads, Ms. Daaé's performance last evening was beyond the standard of Ms. Carlotta and actually considered music to anyone with ears. It is with this knowledge and understanding that I request you make Ms. Daaé the new lead._

 _Please note, that though I ask this of you with considerable politeness, I would care to remind you who owns this café and to whom you answer. It would be undesirable should you be disinclined to acquiesce to my request._

 _It is also with great displeasure that I must remind you that my salary is late for the month of April. Please see that this is remedied quickly in the usual way._

 _Your obedient servant, the Phantom_

Raoul looked down at the note once more, wondering first what kind of prank this must be. Looking to the still paled faces of the managers, however, told him this was no ordinary prank. Reading it again in a more serious light, he started to ask himself how many mysterious people were at this café. First there was the teacher Christine had mentioned and been so scared of, and now some unknown "Phantom" character. A small voice in the back of his mind dared to wonder if there were only one mystery man. Both seemed to be unreasonably interested in Christine's career and both seemed to instil some sort of worry over their wishes not being met. Perhaps they truly were not separate. He could not decide if this was a good thing or not. Taking care of this would be two birds with one stone if they were the same person, but it also meant he would have to face the "Phantom" and that did not sound so wise. Still, with Christine potentially in danger from both—or one, as the case mat be—and him leaving soon could mean catastrophe.

'When did you receive this note?' he asked at length.

'It was on my desk when I stopped in yesterday to make sure everything was in order,' Firmin said, his eyes wide. Something in the quickness of the answer told him that the manager's reason for coming in was a little less responsible than that, but he put it aside.

'Why are you telling me all of this?' Raoul asked, trying to get his head wrapped round this whole situation.

They looked between each other a moment like a pair of confused geese. Clearly they had not been thinking. 'You asked about Ms. Daaé. We assumed you would wish to know she was caught up in all of this,' Firmin finally said.

'We are at the end of our wits with this, but we fear calling in the police on this. It would be bad for business, and…the Phantom warned us against such things,' Andrews replied.

Raoul looked between the two men. He could not believe they were so weak as to simply fall apart to a silly piece of paper. He was glad to know more about the odd situation Christine now found herself in, but wondered if perhaps this was too much. Still, looking between the unfortunate managers, he felt the pull to help them. That was why he joined the military, was it not? Why not lend a hand while also keeping an eye on Christine? He worried for her being caught up in this.

'What do you intend to do, gentlemen?' Raoul asked at length.

'Well,' Andrews started somewhat nervously. 'Comply. We always have. It seems safest.'

Raoul looked at him, knowing full well neither man was one for having much backbone. 'Are you serious? You are just going to roll over?' he asked, still not believing any man could be so weak in the face of vague adversity.

'The last time we went against him, he stole three bottles of our most expensive wine and disassembled my favourite chair, taking some of the pieces,' Andrews whined.

'Are you certain it was not looters or children?' Raoul asked, incredulous as to the silly excuses.

'Yes, because there was a note in the same handwriting stapled to the cushion saying that if I wanted my chair back, we would have to pay him his salary,' the man argued defensively.

Raoul sighed, still not convinced. What if he was looking too deeply into this? It may be his mind was jumping to conclusions after not getting enough sleep or worrying over Christine.

'Gentlemen,' he said, still pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration of their childishness. To be worried over written threats was one thing, but when the threat was no more than disassembled furniture, the reaction was a bit disproportionate. 'What does this have to do with Christine?'

'Because he mentioned her in the note!' Firmin shouted, feeling his temper wearing thin. This boy was simply not believing their predicament.

'And whoever sent it was right, she did sing nicer than Carlotta, if you don't mind my saying, and I would be happy to see her do so again,' Raoul said in exasperation.

'But this was not the first time the Phantom has asked us to let her perform,' Andrews told him with a bit of victory shining in his eyes.

Raoul sobered slight, feeling the seriousness of the man's voice get to him.

'We have been receiving notes about her almost since the day she started. They started off fairly impartially, like telling us to keep her on, or raising her pay a bit as she was doing the same work as the younger Giry, but then, a few weeks ago, there was one telling us to let her audition. He—or It, as I suppose we should say—wanted her to take the lead for the singing. We asked her about it, but she refused in a fit of shyness. The notes stopped and we thought the subject was dropped until the light fell and made Carlotta leave, so we _had_ to ask Ms. Daaé to try. And now there's this,' Firmin concluded, watching as the suspicion grew more serious in Raoul's eyes.

'What has Christine said about this?' Raoul asked after a long pause of contemplation.

The managers exchanged a glance again. 'She, uh,' Firmin started, scratching behind his ear nervously and not meeting Raoul's eye.

'We haven't told her yet. We were waiting to speak with her today, actually,' Andrews cut in to help his floundering associate.

As Raoul looked between them, he found himself mentally agreeing with the "Phantom". These two were complete idiots.

'Well,' Raoul said after trying not to strangle both men in frustration. 'When you see her, tell her I wish to speak to her after tonight's performance,' he said, rising from his chair to leave.

'You won't heed our warning? What if the Phantom decides to take action?' Firmin said with no little amount of desperation in his tone.

Raoul glowered at him. 'If he tried to harm Christine in any way, he will have me to answer to.'

He opened the door of the office, only to be nearly ploughed over by the obviously furious red head, Carlotta.

'What is the meaning of this?' she yelled, shaking a bit of thoroughly abused paper about in the air as some form of evidence.

Raoul was pushed back into the already cramped room by the boisterous woman, hearing the managers groan under their breaths.

'Carlotta! What brings you here so early?' Firmin tried while Andrews—perhaps wisely—shrunk back into his seat.

'How dare you ask me such a question?! I demand to know who sent this and why I should not have you men arrested for such a threat,' she ordered, standing as tall as her five and a half foot frame would allow. Her rich brown fur coat did nothing to help in the cramped space of the office, forcing Raoul to stay and be party to this.

'Why do you assume it is us?' Firmin asked in a distraught flurry of gasps at her harsh words.

Raoul, deciding it was best just to get this out of the way now, managed to catch the note before it was beaten about the air, further crumpling it into illegibility.

' _Dear Miss Carlotta,_

 _After your many years of service to the Majestic, it is my greatest pleasure to announce your so called talent shall no longer be required. Ms. Daaé has proven herself to be a beyond adequate replacement for you. She shall do well and continue to bring class and talent to the Majestic._

 _It would be in your best interests to simply retire. Perhaps somewhere else will be in need of your considerable years' experience. There are sure to be some places who take older singers far past their prime. Should you attempt to return and assume your old position, know that there shall be great consequences._ '

The managers somehow paled even more as the note was passed to them. The same handwriting in a somewhat eccentric red ink glared up at them from the page.

'Well?' Carlotta asked, tapping her toe on the floor.

'Miss, please, we did not write this,' Andrews assured.

'Nor would we ever say such things,' Firmin jumped in quickly.

'Then who is responsible and what do you expect to do about it?' she asked, her voice growing shriller by the second. Her eyes like pinpricks as she glared both men down.

The managers looked to Raoul as if in a plea for help, but he merely tried to manoeuvre his way to the door.

'I should have you two arrested for this!' she shrieked at last as the two men merely managed to open and close their mouths like fish.

'Carlotta,' Firmin tried in a more soothing tone. 'You have nothing to worry about, please. We have no intention of heeding these silly words,' he said, though his voice shook a bit as though expecting the walls to start crumbling down around him. He would be damned before he listened to the Phantom, though. Perhaps that Chagny boy was right. Maybe it was time to take a stand. Besides, he did not want to be arrested.

'What makes you think I want to come back?' she asked, huffing and turning so as to further block Raoul's escape.

'Please, Carlotta, we need you. There is no Majestic without you. You bring…well, majesty to it,' Firmin begged.

She humph-ed again, keeping her back to them and her nose in the air.

'How could Christine ever match you?' Andrews asked, trying his beseeching voice.

'She can't,' Carlotta snapped, turning to glare at him.

'So that is why we beg you not to leave,' Firmin hurried, seeing an in. 'No one can compare to you.'

Raoul felt himself sneer at how sugary these two fools were being, but perhaps it would keep Christine out of trouble if they did not go along with the "Phantom's" plans.

Carlotta seemed to think over the matter. 'Perhaps I could. But you two had better make sure nothing goes wrong, or I shall have you both destroyed,' she threatened, making the managers look like simpering children as she loomed over them with her sharp eyes.

Raoul finally found a way out just in time to hear the managers continue to fawn over Carlotta in joy over her not leaving, and—more importantly—not having them arrested. Things still did not feel right with all of the thinly veiled threats the "Phantom" had made, but he felt confident he could protect Christine should the need arise. He simply hoped to see her this evening.

* * *

Christine rushed from her job at the bookstore, her employer having started on one of his long, drawn out conversations about something she knew very little about. He often did this, she assumed because he lived alone and rarely spoke to anyone, but it always made her worry she would be late at the café. Her stomach rumbled and she assumed she would not have time to eat until before the show this evening. It would be a while, but she simply did not have the time. She still came in at one in the afternoon, but Joseph had been coming in later and later, leaving her and Meg to set up the bar while Mrs. Giry took stock. The somewhat distant bar tender was starting to make his presence known through his absence. She wondered what other childish tactics the people of the Majestic would resort to next.

Now she had singing to worry about as well. Thankfully her health had been good and it was not too overly cold as of late, so she had nothing to fear there. She did still feel the weight of Erik's judgement resting upon her shoulders. Now she had a face to match the voice. God, his face! She had never seen anything like it, nor did she ever wish to again. It was still him, though. That was the one inescapable fact. It was still Erik underneath it all. She wondered as she walked in the door of the Majestic, what had made her worthy of knowing all that she did about him. He had been so secretive before, but spending just a little time with him had opened him up so easily.

She was ripped from her ponderings, however, as she saw the scene before her. Mrs. Giry was stopped in her work, seemingly displeased at the interruption, Meg was half cowering, half glaring from behind her mother's shadow, and the managers were talking to both of them with tiredly pleading looks while Carlotta stood up on the stage like a queen surveying her kingdom.

All grew eerily quiet when they noticed Christine. No one seemed to want to be the first to speak, but Christine could tell by the look of apology in Meg's eyes that the subject of the previous conversation had something substantial to do with her. Carlotta's victorious glare told her a good portion of the story.

'I am not singing anymore, am I?' she guessed, feeling a darkness overtake her.

'Ha! As if you ever did! If it were up to me, you would not even be working here,' Carlotta announced from her high spot.

'Carlotta, _please_ ,' Andrews whispered intently at her.

Firmin took a step forward, breaking free from the pack. 'Ms. Daaé, if you wouldn't mind coming into our office, we will discuss it with you,' he offered.

'All right,' she consented, sounding as if in a daze.

The two managers ushered her into the office. She was barely aware that both Meg and her mother's apologetic looks had become more concerned as she passed. The men offered her a seat, Firmin making sure to sit on the corner of his desk while Andrews leaned back in his chair.

'Did I do something wrong?' she asked, sounding very much like a child about to be reprimanded.

'Well, no,' Firmin began, feeling badly for the girl. 'You were fine. It is only that, well, we think Carlotta is a better fit for singing here, is all. Your voice is lovely and we were overjoyed to have you sing for us Saturday, but Carlotta does have seniority and it's only fair to honour that.'

Christine found herself nodding in understanding, though truly she did not. Something felt wrong in all of this. She felt like her world was collapsing in on her again, only this time she knew not to let herself be lost. Things would go back to the way they were before, would they not?

'Ms. Daaé,' Andrews spoke in a questioning voice. 'A man by the name of Chagny happed to come by today. He was looking for you this morning, saying you had disappeared Saturday night.'

Both managers leaned in a bit to hear her answer, hoping for some solution to the great mystery surrounding the café. 'Oh, yes. He is an old friend. I'm afraid I slipped out of our date because I was so tired that evening,' she lied. She wondered why, when the words had come out of her mouth so easily, she was defending and protecting the man who had taken her and held her in his home under the Majestic for a day and a half. Should she not be telling them of the house just beneath their feet and the wretch of a man who lived there? But no. She would not betray Erik. Not after all he had done to help her. And besides, if she revealed where he lived, he would have nowhere to go. It was not right to make a man already so beaten down in life suffer further. He had let her go, after all. He had even prepared to never see her again. It was her idea for them to continue their lessons.

'Well, the boy seemed awfully worried about you,' Andrews concluded, eyeing her with partial disbelief. She seemed out of sorts today, but perhaps that was simply the shake-up over the casting of the singer.

Christine nodded and, after receiving a slightly flustered assurance that she was free to go, left to see to her duties about the café. She just hoped Erik would not be too disappointed over the change.

'Hey, is everything okay?' Meg asked as she came over to join her somewhat distant friend.

'Yeah, it's fine. They are having Carlotta sing tonight. Seniority and all that,' Christine explained.

'Damn,' Meg cursed under her breath, praying her mother would not hear, and knowing Christine would not tell. 'I'm sorry, Christine. You really were great up there.'

They both winced as Carlotta began her warm ups early. She hit a screeching note that made the girls wonder if the glasses on the bar would shatter.

'She really shouldn't do that. It'll ruin her voice,' Christine muttered, noting how high Carlotta had started. It was not even that the high note was needed. She was showing off for the sake of being pompous and troublesome.

'What voice?' Meg asked before they both hid snickers. 'But really, are you sure you're okay? If you need anything, just ask.' She put a light hand on Christine's shoulder.

'How about a new sense of sanity,' Christine muttered under her breath, shaking her head at Meg's questioning hum.

She went about her normal job, cleaning the floors, trying very hard to ignore Carlotta's "singing" and just not focus on the fact that she would not be on stage again. It was not this fact which bothered her so. She knew she had done well, for everyone had told her so. Even Erik had complimented her. It was simply that for the first time in a long time she had felt like she was being herself again. It was as though the life she led was not the one she was meant to have, but singing had brought her to where she should be. Singing had always been freeing to her, even when she was a little girl singing along to her father's violin, and working with Erik had helped, but it was not the same release as being up there in the spotlight, letting all of her troubles out into the music. She had glimpsed the life she could have had, but was forced to say good bye to it as she was everything else. She would remember it well and hope Erik was not disappointed when he found out…or angry.

Until then, she would simply try to get through her day.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hello everyone! I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who has been following, favouriting, and reviewing this phic. Thank you so much for all of your kindness. I really think this community is one of the sweetest. We all may have differing opinions about certain characters and pairings and cannons, but it's all Phantom-love. Once again, a million thanks to Phantic01 for being a totally awesome best friend** ** _as well as_** **being my beta on this. I am so happy to know I could make a friend online who shares so many of my interests. Anyway, before I make her too sappy, let's get on with the chapter.**

The evening came much quicker than Christine had anticipated and she had still found nothing to eat. She was developing a slight headache and her hands were becoming quite shaky and weak. She nearly spilled drinks on two different customers but narrowly managed to avoid it. She would bring a snack in her purse from now on, she told herself.

She felt the air change in the café as it always did just before a performance. Funnily enough, she did not remember it when she had gone on, but perhaps that was because she was on the other side of it all. She watched as Carlotta took to the stage in a horridly pink dress that clashed with her fiery red hair. Meg often commented she would look better in a turquoise or forest green. Meg was always one to talk fashions, however, and she had long disputed that Christine would look dazzling in any colour. Christine had nodded along but knew she would not be able to afford new clothes any time soon.

Carlotta opened her mouth to sing and Christine shot Meg a withered grimace from across the room in preparation. Four years of listening to the woman with no improvement had not left much room for hope. Sure enough, the wailing began, only this time, a few members of the audience seemed less than thrilled. Perhaps it was from hearing Christine, but most of the men who had been so enchanted by Carlotta before were no longer as interested. A few even stole a longer glance of surprise when Christine delivered drinks to them.

One gentleman stopped her, grabbing her upper arm just enough to catch her attention. 'Why are you not singing, Mademoiselle?' he asked, perfectly accented.

'Oh, it was only a one time—' She stopped short, realising not only that he had spoken the French formality, but that she knew this man. 'Raoul!' she cried in as hushed a voice as she could manage.

'I hope you won't run away again,' he grinned at her winningly.

Her face fell a bit at this. 'Raoul, I'm sorry about the other night, but I just—'

He raised his hand to stop her. 'No need to apologise, though I did worry about you,' he eyed her curiously, making her feel a bit uncomfortable. 'Where did you run off to? I asked around, but no one had seen you leave.'

'I, uh, I slipped out. I, um…' She was at a loss, but thankfully for her, she was saved from making up an excuse when all of a sudden a booming voice cut into the air.

 _'_ _Did I not instruct that a new singer was to be assigned?!'_

Christine knew that voice all too well and she knew the anger it took to make him raise it to such a volume.

* * *

Erik had almost turned round three times on his way to observe his café's daily progress. He was not convinced seeing his lovely Christine would make the hole in his heart heal, but he would try. He would do as she had requested and continue his tutelage. He would do it, just as anything else, for her.

He was only mildly perturbed when he came into the main part of his establishment to find Carlotta already there and screeching up a storm. He searched frantically until his eyes landed on his precious Christine. She did not look well and he instantly worried if she was ill. She looked pained, but then, so did everyone when Carlotta sang. Her face seemed a bit ashen and her movements slightly lethargic. He was about to shout at the managers to let her go home, when Meg asked—for what he guessed by Christine's expression to not be the first time—if she was feeling well.

'I'm just a bit tired, is all,' she excused, brushing it off. Ducking her head back into her work, she seemed to continue with renewed vigour, though her pallid face did not improve any. Resigning himself to watch out for her carefully, he found himself wondering if something in his home had affected her. He would sooner drown in the Hudson than have her grow ill from his forcing her company. If it were the case, he simply hoped she would come to forgive him in time.

As the hours dragged on, his darling angel seemed to wilt more and more. He was mere moments from erupting in Andrews and Firmin's ears about forcing her to work when she was clearly in need of rest, but she perked up as customers started to come in. He had noticed that Carlotta's voice, having become an incessant squealing in his peripherals, was now starting to threaten his sanity. He wondered if Christine would feel well enough to sing tonight.

Sneaking off into the walls of the managers' office via his many built in passageways throughout the Majestic, he listened in on their conversation.

'Are you sure we did the right thing, Giles, letting Carlotta sing tonight? We both know what the Phantom's temper can cause, despite how we may try to assure everyone else otherwise.'

'What choice do we have, Richard? If Carlotta had gone to the police with the note we would be sunk. Besides, Ms. Daaé did not seem too attached to the role of lead. She barely put up a fuss,' Andrews replied over his newspaper, but his face did not seem as calm as his words.

'Hmm, I had expected a little more from her, actually. I suppose it is all this time with Carlotta and her ridiculous demands, but we did not get so much as a tear or saddened eye from the girl. I hope she is feeling well. She seemed…shocked.'

'Well, wouldn't you be if you were just disappointed like that?'

'I suppose you're right. At least, since she showed so little preference, she is less likely to be as connected to our Phantom as we thought. Perhaps he has simply taken a fondness to her without announcing himself.'

'Perhaps. Of course, with competition like that Raoul Chagny fellow, who can blame him for hiding?'

Both men laughed lightly over this, making Erik grit his teeth. So that silly fop had met his incompetent managers. Brilliant. And Carlotta had also threatened to go to the police? Foolish thing.

Slinking back to his previous spot so as to keep an eye on Christine, Erik mentally cursed everyone besides the oddly cooperative Girys and his beloved. Joseph was becoming less and less a favoured employee as he started coming in later each day and forcing his darling to work more. The last thing she needed was more to do. She was already working hard enough.

When the house lights began to dim a bit and Christine was still stuck waitressing and not preparing to sing, his mood did nothing to brighten. The straw that broke the camel's back, however, was when one of the customers put his hand on Christine. Were the walls any thinner he would have broken through them in an instant to rip that young man's hand off of her. _No one_ touched _his_ Christine. Hearing her exclamation of it being Raoul did not help matters. He could hold in his fury over the day's events no longer.

He hardly even thought about his words as he sent them booming about the café. One could have dropped a pin and it would have sounded deafening in the silence which followed his outburst. He seethed to see that boy sit up a little straighter and lean a bit closer to Christine. His angel. His darling Christine was starting to shrink back. He had scared her. Damn it!

He watched with growing hatred as Carlotta seemed to brush off the shout as though it were a mere whisper. He could see her sharper glances about the room, though. She instructed the band to continue and warily they did.

Erik felt his own glare turn white hot as she dared to open her mouth again. He let her get in a few lines before playing his trick. It was always more fun to torment someone as soon as they felt they were in the clear. Nothing felt so good as shattering a false sense of security.

When he had been younger, a mere child hiding in the dirt and grime of Paris, he had picked up a few talents in hopes of entertaining the masses for change. He had learned simple card tricks, which his long, spindly fingers performed with ease, and other small talents which won him a few oohs and ahs, before people became too curious for their own good. Among these little hobbies was ventriloquism and throwing his voice. These were the tricks which would baffle the crowd into frustration or delight, and it fascinated him how quickly a whispered word could start a heated argument. He had watched with amusement many a time when he would cause a lady to smack her unsuspecting husband for something the poor man had not even said. It was this talent which he now used in hopes of creating the ruckus and stir needed to send Carlotta off the stage in complete humiliation.

He listened to her try to sing, as he would never deem her noises beautiful enough to call music, and distinctly remembered the horrid woman catching Christine backstage one afternoon humming and telling her she had the voice of a toad. To her credit, Christine did not hit the woman as she so deserved, nor did she cry on the spot, but he clearly remembered her sounding a bit shy in her singing for that evening's lesson. It had taken some convincing to get her to use her full voice.

With this insult ringing in his anger hazed mind, he played his part. When Carlotta opened her mouth to sing the next line, he projected his voice from her direction with a horrible croak. He watched with barely constrained laughter as she went white as a sheet and timidly attempted to continue her song. One after another, he replaced her vainly endeavoured notes with the croaks of a bull frog until she finally rushed from the stage in ugly wailing tears.

Letting out his laughter, he felt it echo through the café. He heard the rustling and the upset voices of the customers as they demanded to know what was going on. He watched with glee as the managers scrambled towards the stage in hopes to calm the masses. They bumbled on about their prized singer needing rest and not continuing for the evening. Firmin hurried down to scan the room, finally finding the person he needed and hurrying over to the very pale Christine.

'Ms. Daaé, please. We need you to go on,' he told her, ignoring the questions Raoul was hurriedly asking her.

'I-I can't,' she protested.

'You must. I fear what _he_ shall do if you refuse,' he told her, beseeching her with worried and tired eyes.

'Christine, was that your teacher, is he the "Phantom"?' Raoul interrupted.

Shaking her head, she rushed from in between them and hurried to the backstage area.

Erik felt his heart clench when he saw the tears in her eyes. He flew along his passages to make it backstage for her. To await the return of his angel. He was stopped, however, when he heard the shrilly raised voice of Carlotta.

'This is all _your_ doing!' she snapped at the frazzled Christine. 'I know you and that monster "Phantom" being are working together and I shall see it put to an end!' she yelled before pushing past and escaping out the door.

Erik watched as Christine stood there, frozen in place as the tears slowly trailed down her face. He watched his darling cry as she soaked in all he had done and he felt sorry. He had never meant to bring her harm or sorrow. He had done this to see that she got the credit she deserved.

 _'_ _Christine,'_ he sent his voice to call her from behind their dressing room door.

She looked at it and weighed her options. Choking in a sob, she walked forward, opening the door slowly.

'Why?' she asked, barely having even closed the door.

 _'_ _I want you to sing,'_ he told her in all honesty. He would not lie to her. Not anymore.

'But I didn't want to and I—' She broke off in a sob.

 _'_ _My dearest angel, why would you not wish to sing? Your gift should be shared with the world.'_

'Because it wasn't worth the fight. It wasn't worth the scuffle and now I have to go on and I'm so tired and—'

 _'_ _My dear, are you feeling well?'_ He asked it now mostly because she was pale enough to rival even his ghostly pallor.

Her answer was interrupted by a knock at the door. 'Christine?' It was that damned boy come searching for her again. Would he not simply leave her be? Erik tried to cool his temper as Christine continued to let tears trail down her perfect face.

 _'_ _That boy seems to believe you are his for the taking,'_ Erik spat.

'Stop it, Erik,' she shot back with tired and tearful sharpness. Her look of weary anger cut him to the core.

'Christine? Christine, please, it's Raoul. Will you let me in? I want to help you,' he urged from through the door, wondering if he would be forced to kick it open again.

Christine faltered. She looked at the door for a long moment. Erik watched her with fear brewing in his heart. He had no words left to say; she had taken them all.

 _'_ _Christine.'_ He let her name sing on his tongue. His voice was soft and plaintive and filled with its vain hope that she would turn and face him. To leave the door unanswered. He knew it was selfish, he knew he could offer her nothing like what that boy did, but he still wanted her. If this was not love, then why did he burn so with jealousy? If this was not love, then why did it hurt?

He felt his world end when she opened the door and he saw that boy's concerned face, alighting only upon the sight of her. He watched with sharp aching despair as she fell into the young man's arms with tears and woeful requests of safety and freedom.

'Take me away from here. Take me away where no one will find me again. I want to disappear forever and live with only happiness. I want to be happy again. I want to know the world as it was before all of this darkness came in,' she pleaded into him.

'Christine,' Raoul soothed. 'There won't be any light if we run. We have to make it for ourselves, or others will steal it all,' he explained, feeling that pull to do good.

'But I don't want to worry about anything anymore.' She knew she was being childish, but she could not hold it in any longer.

'That's what growing up is, though. We have to find happiness in our worries. We have to find the light and create more for others who aren't strong enough yet. But I will make it for you as long as I can,' he told her after a pause. He wanted so badly to make her happy and to assure her that he could care for her.

Christine closed her eyes as she folded deeper into his warm embrace. It was a different comfort from when Erik had caught her a few nights previous. This one was more sure and steady. He was not doubting his strength, whereas Erik always was. Erik was afraid to touch her, but Raoul was there to lift her up without hesitation.

'Christine, they need you to sing,' Raoul continued. 'They have no one without you,' he told her, keeping her protests at bay.

Slowly, she nodded. She looked back once over her shoulder at the empty dressing room, noting how small and lost she looked in the mirror. She knew she had just broken something very valuable behind her, but she could not find the strength to fully think on that now.

Walking up to the steps of the stage, she assured Raoul that she would wait for him. She started warming up and ignoring what the rest of the world was doing. She could hear Erik's last, shattered plea for her to stay. She knew she had hurt him twice now, without meaning to, but she would never make it through this evening if she spent her energy thinking about it.

Nodding from behind the curtain, she let the band know she was ready before stepping up onto the stage. Her simple, navy blue dress would have to do for the performance. The skirt thankfully stretched down before her still slightly wobbly knees. She had only done this once before, after all.

She tried to ignore how bright the stage lights were and tried to regain that feeling she had had the first time she sang. She had felt so free and happy. Now she felt as though the world was staring her down. She remembered with a slight jab of pain that she had sung for Erik before. She realised that it may never be the same. She may have just lost her teacher and good friend.

She thought of Raoul and wondered if it would be enough to sing for him. Finding his bright and sunny face in the crowd sent a spring of happiness into her. She knew she had worried him and that he cared about her. Perhaps that would be good for her. Leave the darkness and the shadows and move into the light.

Taking her breath, she closed her eyes, feeling the music sweep over her. She pictured all the joy this world could offer. Comfort of love, companionship, and unconditional devotion. These were what she sought for her life now. She let her heart open its arms widely to them. She imagined her father's kind embrace. She remembered the tender touch on her hands. The concerned, hazel eyes staring into her own.

Opening her eyes and releasing the music, she found the eyes, but they were the wrong colour. The ones in the audience were blue. The ones she imagined so fondly were golden. The hands were cold but forever gentle. The embrace was shielding and protective.

 _How glad the many millions of Toms and Dicks and Williams_

 _Would be to capture me._

 _But you had such persistence you wore down my resistance,_

 _I fell and it was swell._

 _You're my big and brave and handsome Romeo,_

 _How I won you, I will never, never know._

 _It's not that you're attractive, but oh, my heart grew active_

 _When you came into view._

 _I've got a crush on you, Sweetie-pie_

 _All the day and night time, hear me sigh,_

 _I never had the least notion,_

 _That I could fall with so much emotion._

 _Could you coo?_

 _Could you care_

 _For a cunning cottage we could share?_

 _The world will pardon my mush,_

 _'_ _Cause I have got a crush,_

 _My baby on you!_

The band came in and Christine caught her breath. This was far from her most challenging of songs and yet it took her breath away. _Perhaps_ , a small voice in her mind urged, _it is not merely the song_. She looked out into the audience to see Raoul's eyes shimmering with admiration, but they were still the wrong colour from the ones she pictured in her mind. She felt those eyes. She wondered if he was watching from his unseen hideaway or if he was down in his home, longing for a thing that could not be. Because it could not, could it? Raoul was the obvious, safe choice. She knew by looking at her old friend that everything to him was on the surface. He had no ulterior motives or secrets hiding away in him. What you see is what you get, and really it was not all that bad. So why did she keep feeling a pang of guilt ringing through her heart as she imagined those two golden orbs swimming with tears of rejection? Why did the words not belong to her knight in shining armour, but to the shadow which followed her every step?

 _Could you coo?_

 _Could you care_

 _For a cunning cottage we could share?_

 _The world will pardon my mush,_

 _'_ _Cause I have got a crush,_

 _My baby on you!_

Her head swam as she finished, knowing this was going to be a tough evening. She did her best, but by the time the third song was through, the band behind her was asking if she was all right. She was tired of that question today. She was just plain tired.

Letting the pianist announce that she would be done for the evening, she walked off the stage and nearly tripped on the first step. Well, she did trip, she simply did not fall.

Erik had been watching her from his favourite spot in the wall. He let his emotions fester inside as he listened to her. He traced her every glance down to that boy, who happened to be grinning like a tasteless idiot. He did not deserve her voice. But then, something occurred to him, her voice never reached that boy. It carried and rang out far beyond the first walls of the café. It…it reached _him_. She may be singing for the boy, but the heart and soul were for him. He watched her with new admiration as she continued. He let her heavenly tones wash over him in a sea of peace and beauty. He watched her pale features and darkly rimmed eyes…he stopped. He looked at her hard and noticed she was wobbling slightly and her eyes were struggling to remain open. She had a fine layer of perspiration on her forehead but it was not from the stress of singing. She looked downright ill.

When she took her final bows, he wasted no time in hurrying to her. Even if she shunned and hated him for all time, he would make sure she was well taken care of. He told himself that he would not end that boy if he came to take her home, simply ensure she would be attended to.

He took a chance. He always took chances with her, but this time he took one for his whole heart. He stood in the hallway behind the stage like a regular person and waited for her to emerge from behind the curtain. When she did, he felt his stomach drop. Her face was white as a sheet and her eyes were barely staying open. He opened his mouth to say her lovely name, but was diverted when she tripped on the first step down.

Rushing forward without a second thought, he caught her in his arms. She was out cold as her cheek rested limply against his now heaving chest. Putting an arm around her shoulders and one beneath her knees, he carried her into the dressing room and hovered over the sofa. Were he a good man, he would lay her down there, make sure she was all right and leave to let that boy take her to a doctor or just back to her apartment. Were he a good man.

His answer to this came when she shifted slightly her brow puckered in a mild frown. He gasped a bit when she hummed and nuzzled her face further into his shoulder before relaxing again. He looked at her as though she were a tiny bird who had suddenly chosen to alight upon his finger. He felt her give a slight shiver, her fingers now clinging sleepily to the lapels of his jacket. He knew without question that if he kept her now, he would never be free. But, he had somehow known this from the first moment she had walked in.

Deciding to give his conscience one last test, he gently sat her down on the sofa, making her issue out a few more murmured protests which clenched his already tattered heart. He bravely let a hand come up to her forehead. He told himself it was for her health alone, but he knew better. She had a cold sweat and the beginnings of a fever. Wondering what she had done to herself, he stood, knowing he would have to make the choice.

Hearing footsteps in the hall, he found his options quickly slimming, though he may regret it. Walking over to the mirror, he pressed the hidden button to swing it open, came back and lifted her delicately into his arms and carried her through the doorway. He closed the mirror just as the doorknob began to turn. That boy would have to wait again to see precious Christine. He was too late to take her away now.

Erik wavered for just a moment, observing the boy as his face fell at the emptiness of the room. The boy gave a long, hard look at the mirror before shaking his head with a sigh and walking back out, likely wanting to search the café for Christine. He would not find her tonight.

 **A/N:** ** _I've got a Crush on You_** **1928 Composed by George Gershwin, lyrics by Ima Gershwin for** ** _Treasure Girl_** **(1928) and** ** _Strike up the Band_** **(1930).**


	17. Chapter 17

Christine opened her eyes just a crack and only slightly regretted it. She had been having such an interesting dream, she hoped that if she could just get her mind to be quiet she could go back to it. But of course, once she had woken up there was no going back to sleep. She peeked at her surroundings and found them different than what she had expected. She had been expecting her own blue bedroom walls and her hard mattress, but instead found them to be rose and crème and her mattress was very plush and nearly swallowed her in its soft blankets. She knew this room.

Her eyes opened wide as she realised where she was. It was only then that she felt something stir by her hand. Looking down at it revealed the newly raised amber eyes showing through the meagre openings of the white leather mask.

'Christine?' he asked hopefully.

'Erik,' she felt her mind spin a bit as she tried to sit up.

'Lie back, my dear. You had a fever, you are not well,' he instructed, holding his hand over her breast bone as though to force her to lie down, but did not have the strength to touch her. He looked between his hand's never to be achieved destination and her eyes a few times before suddenly straightening with a few not so subtle pops of joints. Christine winced a bit to hear these.

She looked up at him as he reached his full towering height, pulling at the vest he wore. His jacket was on the back of a chair, abandoned a few feet over. She took this time to once more note how thin he was. The jacket did much to hide what must be a nearly emaciated frame. She wondered how he managed to do anything with such a thin build. A new question arose from this train of thought.

'Erik, how did I get down here?' she asked, looking at him expectantly.

She watched with slightly confused amusement as he looked away at this. 'I, uh, carried you. You passed out while leaving the stage and I-I caught you and brought you down here when I realised you were sick. I-I'm sorry, but I couldn't leave you without seeing to your health. I'm sorry,' he bowed his head as if waiting for her to somehow rise above him and smite him.

'You carried me all that way?' she asked in disbelief.

Erik nodded, tentatively meeting her eye. 'I had to set you down to get the mirror open, but yes,' he explained, gaining some amount of confidence in his words.

Christine gazed at him as he stood, still awaiting what he perceived to be his deserving punishment. She placed her hands beside her ribs and scooted back to sit up some. He seemed to lunge forward as though to help her or keep her from moving, but she was not sure as he thought better of it and shrunk back again.

Once sitting up, she folded her hands into her lap and toyed with her fingers. Erik watched her with confused admiration.

'H-have I displeased you?'

'No!' Her head snapped up and her answer was quicker and much louder than she had intended. 'No,' she repeated quietly, looking down again. 'It's just that I thought after earlier that you…' She trailed off.

'That I what, Christine?' he asked, growing concerned over her hesitance to speak to him. He felt fear ring up his spine as he realised he may have lost the one compliment she had bestowed upon him: that he made it easier for her to be herself and to talk to him.

'That you wouldn't want to see me anymore. That you would hate me,' she said, tears threatening.

Erik felt her words cut into his heart with more precision than a knife. He nearly crumpled to his knees at such a thought as hating her. Already a plea for forgiveness was bubbling up in him. He would crawl on hands and knees for her if she would only forgive him his mistake.

'Christine, I would never—'

'And you would have every right to after all I've put you through. It's all my fault. I feel so guilty and it's hurting you and it's all my fault.' She finally wept into her hands.

Now Erik did fall, only he did so tentatively on the edge of the bed to be closer to eye level with her. He felt a spark of anger brew up in him and he knew it was the wrong emotion to feed, but he could _not_ stand to see her cry over something so silly as his feelings. He would never have her do something like this again if he could help it.

Reaching out an emboldened hand, he placed it upon her thoroughly blanketed knee. 'Christine,' he said in a blunt and cool voice. 'This is ridiculous. You are crying over nothing. I want you to stop right now and listen to me,' he told her in no uncertain terms.

Perhaps she did not hear him, perhaps her mind was still in the fog of her illness, she did not know, but what she did know where the consequences of her next words.

'I'm nothing but a useless child. I wonder sometimes if I should even exist. I just don't feel like I am worth much,' she wept through her fingers and tears.

In a flash, she felt a pinch on her arms and saw nothing but two fiery orange eyes staring intently into her own. She barely had time to realise her arms hurt from his grip before he was shouting at her.

'Don't say that! Don't you ever say that! You are a gift upon this world! _No one_ is useless! No one _deserves_ to die! You are precious and beautiful and smart and everything this world should be! Don't you ever think you are anything but perfect, Christine!' He yelled this as he burned her with his eyes. He shook her a bit on certain words, not even registering the way her curls briefly brushed his exposed chin with their silky soft curves.

They stayed there for a moment, frozen in place by the fury of his words. He watched them sink in as her face crumpled again. Realising what he had done, he let go of her arms, now slightly red from the pressure of his fingertips, and stood from the bed in one jerked movement. He stood apart from her, just staring wide-eyed at her and his now quivering hands. He wondered dreadfully if he had bruised her lovely pale skin.

'Do you really believe all of that, Erik?' she asked with a tremble in her voice.

He looked at her again, his brow knitting behind the mask in saddened sympathy. 'I have to, but for you always,' he assured. He knew he had made a minor breach when saying _no one_ was useless or deserved death. He should have specified what he had long believed: no one but _him_.

Turning away from her, he let his eyes fall. He let the weight of the world once more come down upon his shoulders, threatening as it always did to drag him down to Hell where he belonged. He was not a man, he was a creature pretending to be a man. All for the love of a beautiful woman. He was a tragic character. He would suffer for her, but never have her. No being such as him deserved the love of such a wonderful woman.

Christine regarded him a moment. It was then, seeing him turn away in utter defeat that she realised that in his every stance, movement, and syllable was the thing she had foolishly claimed he did not have. Love. He loved her. She saw it now clear as day. Everything he did, he did for her. He carried her down here, he knelt at her bedside as she slept, daring to gently hold only one of her hands, he scared her into remembering that she had value. He now resigned himself to love her from a distance, hoping, but never really expecting anything in return.

She pitied him. She truly did. But whether it was because his hopes were in vain and he would be right in suffering alone, or because she had yet to know her own feelings, she was not sure. That was why it hurt. She knew he would be in pain because of her possibly forever. This hurt her especially because she had come to think of him as a friend. He had been a comfort and guiding light in her life for so many years now. How could she ever come to say goodbye to him, or accept that there was more. As always, she felt her cowardice in the face of change. Pity alone would not bring strength, however. Pity could not bring the love he so desperately needed and deserved.

'Christine,' his gentle voice pulled her from her reverie. 'Are you hungry?' he asked, looking at her over his shoulder.

She found herself nodding urgently. 'Yes, I didn't get lunch yesterday. That mixed with all that happened was probably why I got so sick,' she explained, growing slightly sheepish as she went on and saw his bristling concern.

'Why did you not eat?' he demanded, distressed.

'I just didn't have time. I was held up at the bookstore and I couldn't be late because Meg needed me and then everything happened at once and…I just couldn't manage it,' she told him, looking down.

'That boy was going to take you to dinner, wasn't he?' Erik asked with a painfully sad tone.

Christine shrugged. 'Probably. I knew he wanted me to go with him after the show. I just didn't make it, obviously,' she gestured down at her blanket covered legs.

'Because I made you sing,' Erik pronounced, feeling his heart drop.

Christine instantly looked back up at him. 'No, Erik, it's not that. I should have known better. I should have packed something to eat or tried to grab something on the way. I'm sure Meg could have survived five minutes without me. I was being irresponsible.'

'But I knew you didn't seem well, but forced you to go on anyways,' he retorted.

'You didn't force me, I chose to. Now, we're not getting anywhere passing around blame,' she finally told him in her no-nonsense voice.

Erik was slightly taken aback by her change in tone, but found her to be right. He could blame himself in his head later. Right now his angel needed food.

'I'll go make you some soup,' he told her.

'I'll come help,' she said, starting to pull back the covers to follow.

'No, you need to rest,' he urged her, looking like someone trying to herd a sheep back into its pen.

'Erik, I can't lie around all day,' she told him, then stopped. 'All day, Erik, I have work!' she cried, throwing off the covers and preparing to scurry about the room.

'No, you don't.' Erik caught her by the arms again, far more gently this time. 'I called and told them you were sick.'

This stopped her. 'You called in sick for me?' she asked in complete disbelief.

'Yes, and the man at the bookstore, after giving me the story of his life, told me to tell you he hopes you feel better soon. The managers already know.'

' _Both_ jobs! Erik, I can't miss that much work,' she started to fret.

'Christine, you need a day off,' he urged, trying once more to herd her back to bed.

'No, I just had a day off!' She nearly stomped her foot (Erik was grateful she did not as there was a fair chance she would have stomped on his).

'Christine, please.' He found her eyes and begged with them. He watched patiently as she huffed in brief indignation before softening.

'Fine,' she told him. 'But what will Meg do without me?' she asked, seeing if the guilt card would work on him.

'She will manage just as she did before you came. You may still go up to sing, if you wish,' he threw in, knowing he should not make it seem as though he intended to keep her here.

'I will, thank you very much,' she told him, lifting her nose up to keep her strong image. Erik hid a smirk at this.

'Fine, fine. Now, if you _must_ be out of bed, then feel free to bathe or change your clothes. My home is entirely at your disposal,' he told her, making sure she remembered his promise of sharing it with her.

She softened and nodded, watching as he left the room, closing the door with nothing but a whisper of air.

* * *

She stepped out of her room about half an hour later, straightening her new dress one last time before fussing with her hair. Having no mirrors in the house did nothing to ensure her appearance was presentable. Finally just leaving it, she looked down with the slightest of sighs. She was wearing another one of the dresses _he_ had given her. Her other one was hung up in the hopes that gravity would assist some of the wrinkling. She really needed to stop passing out in her clothes.

It felt odd to wear new clothes as it had been so long since she had been able to buy anything. These fit her perfectly and they made her feel a bit more special.

Wandering out into the living room, she heard Erik bustling about in the kitchen and wondered if she should let him know she was out. Hearing his gentle humming dissuaded her as she turned her attentions to one of his bookcases. He had one on the wall that joined the kitchen and dining room, and another beside the door to the hall. Walking over to the former showed regular novels and standard collections. Some were encyclopaedias, famous plays, and a few classics. Finding nothing in particular to strike her fancy, she walked over to the other case and discovered it was chocked, somewhat messily, full of music. Sheet music poked out of overstuffed binders and a few blueprints scattered the shelves. She noted a few familiar titles on the shelf, remembering how he would occasionally leave her sheet music to learn in their lessons. Knowing where it came from made her smile some. This seemed to be his creative bookcase.

Pulling out a binder somewhat cautiously for fear of starting an avalanche, she noted that it was purely instrumental. Having learned to read music as a child, she tried to discern the melody from the admittedly haphazard scribbles of notes on the staff. She hummed it softly under her breath, but found nothing familiar about it. It seemed dark and powerful, not at all like anything one would hear these days.

Doing her best to replace it accurately, she pulled out a different one, looking much newer than all the others. She looked at the outside of the folder and noted that this one was a gentle turquoise while all the others were varying shades of red, black, and grey. She was just about to flip it open when a hand snatched it out of her grip.

She whirled round to see Erik clutching it to his chest protectively. She had not heard him come up behind her, and having him so close reminded her of just how tall he was. Despite this, he looked oddly pitiful as he held the music as though it were a baby.

'Please forgive me, but I am not ready for you to see this yet,' he told her, barely meeting her eye.

Christine had to hold back in her question of why. He did not look ready to begin answering that. 'Did you write all of these?' she asked, settling to gesture widely to the bookcase.

He looked at it as though only just noticing its presence in his house. 'Yes,' he answered gently. 'I need to clean it, though. Forgive the mess. I am not generally so disorganised.'

'It's all right. I really don't mind,' she replied easily.

He hummed a disagreement. 'But I should have my home cleaner for you,' he explained, walking over to it and trying to shift the papers with one hand while the other still cradled the forbidden folder. When he sent a stack of papers cascading to the floor, he muttered a curse in French before looking at her with utter shock. 'I-I…Do forgive me!'

Christine hardly heard his cry as she was trying to restrain laughter. He had looked so funny, standing there in his shirt and vest, watching uselessly as the papers fell gracefully. His muffled curse only made her snickering explode into laughter. She hid behind her hand, giggling at his apparent misfortunes. She only laughed when such bad luck was harmless.

Erik stared at her in surprise as she tried to hide her beautifully musical laughter. When another small stack of paper fell and they both watched it helplessly she finally gave up on hiding. He nearly closed his eyes to the sound of her laugh as it echoed cheerily throughout his home. The choirs of Heaven could not have sounded more perfect at that moment than Christine's laughter.

'I'm sorry, Erik,' she said, trying to rein in her giggles. 'It was just so funny the way you watched it fall. But really, you mustn't worry about it. Your house is spotless. I rather like having a messy spot. It gives the room some personality,' she told him, her eyes still shining with mirth.

'You truly do not mind?' he asked, daring a glance back at the shelf. He reached out to move a folder, but her hand met his, freezing him. He stared at her delicate fingers, so slender, yet so small compared to his overlong appendages. He braved a look into her eyes as she seemed to be seeking his out.

'Not at all, Erik. I like it when you're a little disorganised. It makes me feel a little bit better about being as scatter-brained as I am,' she told him earnestly.

'I hardly find that so, my dear, but I shan't argue it with you,' he said, straightening again.

Christine smirked at his old-fashioned way of speaking, but she supposed it suited him well enough. She shook her head at his idea of her being any kind of perfect, but agreed that it was not worth bickering over.

'How is the soup coming?' she asked, taking her hand back after realising with the threat of a blush that she had left it on his for far longer than she had intended.

Erik nearly jumped in remembering. 'Oh, it's ready. I hope you like it. It's tomato basil and I even made cheese sandwiches to go with it…if that's all right.' He looked at her questioningly, hoping for approval.

'That sounds lovely,' she told him with a tired smile.

He beamed and offered his arm to her. She paused, looking at it with uncertainty for a moment, to the point where he nearly drew it away, but she took it gently. He thought his heart would hit the ceiling for the feel of her hand resting in the crook of his elbow. He led her like a gentleman to the dining room and pulled her chair out for her before dashing off to the kitchen to bring in her meal. Quickly putting his precious folder in the living room for later, he carried her soup and sandwich in.

He made sure she did not need anything, having provided water at her behest for a drink. He thought he was doing so well for himself and her as he sat down across the table with his hands neatly folded in his lap, but a look of concern on her pretty features stopped this from coming to fruition.

'What's wrong, my dear?' he asked, his mind swirling into a flurry as he tried to figure out what she must be missing. She had utensils and a napkin, her food was there along with her glass of water.

'Will you not eat with me?' she asked.

Erik looked at her quizzically. Had they not gone through this once before? True, he had been wearing the other mask then, but surely she would understand that this was a barrier he could not breech.

'My mask does not allow me to at present. I shall eat later,' he brushed off, hoping he would not make her feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. Certainly she was not used to having such company at meal times.

'Can't you take it off?'

He looked at her as though she had just shot a favourite dog.

'Why would you want that?' he asked, avoiding a few choice words his mind had come up with for the initial draft of that question.

'Because,' and she paused here, making him wonder how far she had thought this through. 'I want you to be comfortable.'

'But Christine, you know well what lurks behind the mask,' he warned, not intending to agree to her request under any circumstances. This would be the one thing he would deny her.

'No, what I saw was only misguided anger and unintentional pain,' she snapped.

'And that is all you shall ever see should you have the misfortune of witnessing me without my mask,' he said it with a firm end to the conversation.

Christine looked at him stubbornly and not without a bit of hurt in her eye. More than what she had said, she wanted to show him and herself that she was braver and better than she seemed. She wanted to prove him wrong in thinking her too weak to see.

'Please, Erik,' she beseeched one last time. He clung now to the arms of his chair and looked at her sharply.

'Your soup is getting cold, my dear. Best you eat it before it becomes unpalatable.' He did not entirely mean for the sharp edge in his voice, but topic was finally over.

Christine ate in silence, feeling his stare slowly start to soften again as he watched her. He gradually coaxed his mind to stop focusing on the fact that she had asked such a foolish thing of him. How could she possibly have meant for him to bare himself like that? She had been terrified the last time. He did not wish to think of the looks of disgust his gruesome visage would garner while eating. Looking away from her for a time, he tried to think of other things. He had a piece of music floating through his head which needed writing, but he decided to wait until she was otherwise occupied.

When at last she finished, assuring him that it was very good, they went off to the living room. He wanted so badly to relax, but her earlier request hung heavily on his mind. What else would she bring up? Could she not simply sit and accept that he was not, nor would he ever be, normal? Perhaps this was why she turned to that boy Raoul instead. He nearly let a growl slip out at this thought.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: UUUGH! I am so sorry for the late update, everyone! I got busy and stuff, and ugh. I'm sorry. Here's your next chapter. Better late than never, right? Hope you all enjoy and have a nice weekend.**

Christine wandered about the living room, taking it all in. Erik sat uncomfortably in one of the armchairs, watching her with the distinct feeling of dread. She walked over to the bookcase with the actual books in it and perused once more. She was hardly even reading the titles.

'Christine, dear heart, would you care to sit down? I worry about you standing so long after your illness,' he beckoned, though in truth she had only been standing a bare three minutes. He just wanted her to stop moving around him in silence. Given their dinner conversation, he was on guard for more unwanted questioning.

'Do I make you uncomfortable?' she asked, looking at him with the picture of innocence written on her face.

Erik remained silent.

'Because I can leave if my company disturbs you—'

'No,' he answered a bit too quickly. 'No, forgive me.' He ducked his head from the sudden desperation his voice had betrayed.

'You keep saying that, but I have yet to find anything that requires forgiveness. Well, beyond the stealing me here and such,' she told him, moving slowly to the accompanying chair.

'Yes, well,' he looked away again. 'Force of habit,' he muttered to nothing in particular.

'Tell me something about your childhood. Surely you must have some bright memories,' she probed.

'No, I-I would rather not, thank you.' He let that disdainful edge into his tone.

'Why not?' She looked at him curiously.

'I don't think it a wise topic to pursue.'

'But that's not fair,' she protested. 'You have found out about my life these past four years and I never asked you for one thing until now. Why won't you talk to me?'

There was that irritated tone in her voice again. His darling angel certainly was changeable. When she thought she had the right, she would keep on it until someone told her firmly otherwise. Then she would shrink again. Part of him wished to do just that to avoid the tirade of accusations for his cowardice, but he liked having her strength. She was too meek around everyone else. He liked having a side to her that no one else got to see.

'I-I can't. I'm sorry, Christine, but I just can't go back to that,' he told her, feeling his will weakening despite his words.

'Why not?' she repeated with a frustrated sigh.

Erik stopped for a moment. This would be the point at which she would hide from him or yell at him. He honestly feared both. 'I'm scared,' he admitted in a small voice, already cringing from the expected attack.

Christine opened her mouth to ask further questions, but found in his huddled posture the force she had put upon him. Her shoulders relaxed as she realised how hard she had been pushing. He looked like a child who was used to being beaten for speaking. He looked abused and she felt ashamed.

Sliding from her chair, she came over to kneel before him, much like he had a few days ago. Tentatively, she reached up and gently took his hand, curled in a fist. Her touch softened it and he let her fingers in.

Erik had not realised he had closed his eyes until they flew open from shock to see his sweet Christine kneeling before him and holding his wretchedly long fingered hand. He looked down into her large hazel eyes and found guilt and apology. He started to lean forward, ready to trip over himself with assurances that this was by no means her fault. Her requests were reasonable and were he any other man, he would give her anything and everything her heart desired. And though he wished to do such things for her, the few things she wished for were the ones he could not let go.

'Erik,' she spoke softly, interrupting his explosion of apologies. 'I know this is hard for you, and I hate to hurt you with it, but I just want to understand. I want to know you,' she explained, still pleading, only more gently. 'It's not everyday someone secludes me in their underground home and says they are in love with me. Please, let me in.'

'Why must a man's past dictate who he is?' he all but whispered.

'Because his past holds his choices. It holds his mistakes as well as his victories,' she replied just as eloquently.

Erik's eyes melted at this. She was so incredibly beautiful. 'I love you,' he murmured, feeling his heart clench in preparation for hurt.

Christine's face fell at this as she looked to the floor. She was still so used to her father telling her he loved her and the ease with which she was able to return the sentiment, but now things were different. She supposed that was what growing up was. Saying you love someone means so much more than it did as a child, even though it feels the same. That warmth and burning in your heart at even the sound of their footsteps, yet you hold it in because it is no longer innocent. Proclamation of love means other things come with it for adults. It's no longer the gentle hearted kiss on the cheek or forehead. It's…more.

'I…' She tried to find words.

'No, Christine. I know. I simply had to say it, forgive me.' He let go of her hand and rose from his chair, walking over to the kitchen to do…something productive. She watched him go with disappointment.

She sat, listening to him wash the dishes from lunch and huffed a sigh before rising and going to the open doorway. She leaned against it, finding it oddly pleasing to watch his back while he worked. Slowly pushing off the wall, she walked over to him and stood to his side, taking a towel, which he had flung over his shoulder with a flourish. Taking dishes from the drying rack, she finished them off and set them on the counter.

Erik had formulated an objection as soon as she had walked over to him. Something about having her at his side, however, made all the difference. She was quiet while she worked and they soon had everything except for utensils dried and ready to be replaced. He had to walk round her to get to the bowls to put them away, remembering well the last time she had tried to get something from one of his high placed cabinets. He supposed he could lower them, but the darker cloud of realism dissuaded him. What was the point if she was not going to stay?

Christine noted his happiness at having her near, but something changed very quickly as they finished. His shoulders slumped a bit and his eyes were more downcast.

'Erik?' She touched his arm, bringing his hollow looking eyes up to hers. 'What's wrong?'

He hurt from seeing her concern. 'I'm sorry.'

'For what?'

'I keep bringing you down here. Its hurts because I know you won't stay, but I like having you with me because…I love you. I'm sorry. I truly am. If I could change it, for you I would, but I can't.'

'Oh Erik,' she said, holding one of his hands. 'I'm the one who should be sorry. I don't want to hurt you like this. I want you to be happy, but everything I do just brings pain. If I could say without question that I…but I can't. My life has never been the straight line I wanted it to be. It has never been easy or gone the way it should. If I were a better person, I would leave you alone and stop all this, but I can't,' she started to cry at this. 'I can't. I just can't lose you. You make me feel whole again. I'm sorry,' she wept, pulling his hand up to her forehead, dripping a few tears onto it on the way up.

Erik stood there, frozen, while she cried. He hated it when she cried, but she was just so very beautiful. His other hand moved as though to hold her, but he could not bring himself to do it. He did not deserve it. Instead, he tilted her chin up with his fingers.

'You are the most beautiful being God has ever gifted this world with. I thank you for sparing tears over a wretch like me,' he told her, memorising every fleck of colour in her eyes. Blue on the rim, green at the middle, and amber at the pupil. So lovely.

Christine sniffled before managing a watery smile. 'You're not wretched, Erik.'

His smile trembled and his heart swelled. He squeezed her hand ever so gently in silent thanks.

Sniffling again, she laughed a bit brokenly. 'Would you mind playing something for me? On the piano?' she added, eyeing him hopefully.

'Only if you promise to sing with me,' he told her, already moving towards the door.

She laughed breathily again and nodded. 'All right,' she agreed, following him off to his room. She was glad when they entered that he left the door open. She did not worry about him doing something inappropriate, as he had had plenty of opportunities and simply was not that kind of man. She liked having the openness. She was tired of hiding everything.

He sat down and played a quick Chopin piece to warm up, saying that Chopin was child's play. He moved on to Stravinsky, but her somewhat pained expression—though making him shake his head amid laughter at her pickiness—made him switch to Beethoven. Finally he moved to warm ups for her and started on a song she had long claimed to be her favourite.

 _You're my funny valentine.  
Sweet, comic valentine  
You make me smile with my heart.  
Your looks are laughable.  
Un-photographable.  
Yet you're my favourite work of art._

 _But don't change a hair for me.  
Not if you care for me.  
Stay little valentine stay.  
Each day is Valentine's day. _

Erik finished with a slight flourish, making Christine giggle beautifully. He looked up over his shoulder at her as she looked down at the sheet music he had perched on the stand. She leaned over and plucked it up to examine further. He tried to remain in his seat for how close she had gotten when she leaned over. He could feel her soft, warm breath graze by his ear and what little was exposed of his jawbone.

'Does the teacher not have anything for me to fix?' she asked, eyeing him with play suspicion.

'Oh, a few things, but none you need to concern yourself with as of yet,' he told her, turning his attentions back to the piano.

'My, you're lenient,' she paused. 'Are you sure you're still the man who taught me to sing?' she asked, leaning in to eye him again.

'Unfortunately, yes,' he laughed.

'Hmm.' She looked at him doubtfully.

'I simply do not want you to worry should you wish to continue performing,' he assured her at last.

'Oh, so I have a choice now?' she asked him.

'You have always had a choice.'

'Your booming voice of anger seemed to beg to differ,' she told him, putting her hands on her hips.

Erik sighed wearily. 'I'm sorry.'

'And another thing,' now he was becoming amused. 'Who said I was so nervous that a little critique would ruin my performance?' she asked, eyeing him fiercely. Well, as fiercely as someone who, while he was seated, could barely rest her chin on his head and who likely weighed as much as a rabbit, could look.

He sputtered quietly, trying to hold in his laughter. It was funny to think that someone so small and unassuming could have made him shrink earlier. How could this little pixie of a girl intimidate him?

'You are laughing at me?' she accused, her lips tugging at the corners.

'No,' he answered again too quickly, biting his lip to hold in laughs.

'Yes you are!' She laughed openly now.

Erik finally released a tentative laugh. It was as gently musical as the rest of his voice. It echoed off the walls beautifully and sang in her head. Her own laughter only encouraged his until they were both struggling for air a bit.

'I like your laugh,' she told him, smiling at his sparkling golden eyes. They seemed to shimmer like lit candles.

'I adore yours,' he replied, looking at her with purest love in his gaze.

She sobered a bit and looked down. Erik saw this and felt guilt rise in him, and yet he also felt the pain of denial.

'Christine,' he turned more towards her on the bench. 'I know you don't love me, and I know you might never—' He stopped, forcing that thought aside. 'But please understand that though you do not feel the same way, I still wish to see you and know you.'

'But that's not fair to you,' she protested.

'Christine, I would rather know you through a wall than never get to speak to you again.'

'Those should not be your options, though. I just—Urgh!' She threw up her hands and turned away. 'Why is everything in my life so confusing and hard?! Why can't I just be normal?!'

'I'm sorry,' he muttered again.

'Stop apologising! It's not your fault.' She turned to him.

'Isn't it?'

This gave her pause.

'Think about it,' he continued. 'You had just moved here, gotten a nice job, about to start your life over and here I come to ruin it all by secreting you away each night.'

'You taught me to sing,' she retorted.

'Yes, but took away your time for making friends and finding someone.'

'I wouldn't have gone out, anyways. That first night I had intended to just go home,' she said, sounding a bit disappointed in her own reclusive nature.

'But can you say the same for every other night since? Can you guarantee that if you hadn't met me, you would have denied Meg's invitations to go out all these years?'

Christine looked away.

'No, I didn't think so,' he told her, his voice long having turned cold and flat. 'So if you are looking for someone to blame for your life not going according to plan, here I am.'

'I wasn't. I just—never mind,' she looked down again, letting an odd silence fall over them.

Erik observed her a moment, trying to imagine what his life would have been like these past four years without her. He barely wanted to consider it. He would still be suffering anonymity from the world and possibly the managers. Ever since Christine had come he had been sure to make his presence in the café known, whereas before he had been just a fun little ghost story to shirk blame with. Christine had changed everything. He actually cared what happened to this place now. Years ago he had wondered if he might just let the Majestic run itself into bankruptcy and move on with life. He might travel again or just live in the basement of the building. He gave up the plan when the thought of the work needed to keep the building empty for his personal use occurred to him. It would be better just to let it run its course. He could continue to make plenty of money—not that he needed it—and just live out his days here in comfort with minimal distraction.

And yet that was not the turn his life had chosen to take. He had met Christine. She had changed him into wanting something more. She had given him aspirations for both himself and her. He wanted so badly for her to reach success. And then he fell in love with her. Or perhaps it was the love which already existed that brought out his desire for her good future. Perhaps he had loved her the moment she had first come into his view. He knew he had been struck by her voice, but maybe his heart had been sold long before that.

Looking up at her now, he knew that no matter when he had first fallen, the point remained that he was irrevocably hers. Her smile, her laugh, her eyes when they glistened with tears, the very way her hair fell effortlessly into its soft curls. Every bit of her was enchanting to him. He was lost.

Christine considered a similar set of scenarios had she not met Erik. She thought of her desires when first taking up the Giry's on their offer of shared employment. She had come to escape the war, but more than that she had come to escape loneliness. She had sought the companionship of her friends from Paris. But what had she truly done with her time? She had spent it singing and brushing off Meg's near constant offers of fun and romance. She had turned away the chance of happiness. If she had turned down Erik's offer and taken Meg's, where would she be now? Would she have someone? Would she be married and living in a calm little home? Or would she be unhappily holding two jobs to keep afloat in a life which held little promise for her? She doubted her confidence would have lasted long with Meg's outings, but who could say?

She looked at Erik as he sat, gazing at nothing, probably lost in his own thoughts. How he must hate her. He had laid bare his heart and she had nothing to say to it. It was too soon to tell with Raoul, but she did not feel it right to choose Erik. Raoul was the obvious choice for happiness. He was bright and happy. He would take her out into the sun and have her make friends. She would be his perfect housewife when he came back from the war. Her independence would be gone, but she would have her constant companion.

And yet Erik offered her security and comfort and music. He offered everything her father had taught her to seek. Gustave had told his daughter many times that love was not love if it sought position. She could be anything she wished and no one would get in her way. Her love would come in the form of someone who understood her and respected her and wished to make her truly happy, not force her into being just like everyone else. She looked at Erik now and saw that potential. He would stand beside her in everything, not drag her along. Perhaps she needed some dragging out, though. She had little in the way of aspirations were it not for him. She would have been happy to just deal with being a quiet housewife until he showed her what she could be if she tried a little harder.

'Christine,' he finally broke the silence.

'Hmm?' she asked, wrenching herself from her thoughts.

'Would you like to sing more with me?' he asked almost timidly. He needed to hear her crystalline voice ringing through him again.

'All right. And I think I would like to sing this evening in the café.'

'We won't go long, then.' He nodded, turning back to his piano and striking up the instrumental for a lovely duet.

 **A/N: My Funny Valentine, 1937. Composed by Richard Rogers, lyrics by Lorenz Hart for** ** _Babes in Arms._**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I suppose this should have gone at the heading of last chapter, but ah well. Just to let you all know, you are not over halfway done with this story! Oh me, oh my! Don't worry, there is plenty more drama and fun to be had, I just felt like marking the milestone. I hope you all enjoy!**

Firelight flickered in the grate as they sat in the living room. Both were reading and enjoying each other's company for as long as it lasted. Christine had selected a book of poetry while Erik was rereading a favourite novel. She was initially surprised at how easy it was to simply exist at his side without worrying over anything. He would not force her to sing tonight, nor would he argue her decision to do so. He would let her make her own choices and help her when she asked or desperately needed it.

She caught him more than once glancing over to her as if making sure this was not a dream. He would smile with a bit of a shimmer to his eyes and turn back to his book without saying a word. She felt comfortable with this arrangement as they waited until it was time for her to go up to greet the rest of the world and sing. Performing was not so nerve-wracking this time, perhaps because she knew Erik did not expect anything from her beyond what she had already proven she could give. She was becoming used to his new presence in her life. In some ways, knowing he was not truly a ghost or angel made it all the easier. He was only human and thus had human wishes for her. He wanted her success, certainly, but now she felt more than ever that he simply wished for her happiness.

When the time came for the performance, he granted her small request of playing warm ups for her. She felt in those moments when he played the piano that she had seen who he truly was. Gone was much of his hesitancy and self-doubt. Gone were the unending glances of admiration and willingness to please. He was just Erik playing for his lady love and having her voice rise around him in musical perfection.

He accompanied her in the elevator, much like before, only this time when she prepared to leave him she did not feel the weight of his sorrow pressing down on her heart. Instead, she felt the promise of returning. She would come back to him and see him and enjoy the simplicity they had found this evening. Even when he had briefly explained the intricacies of how he had built his home and all of the technical considerations that went into planning the fireplace—having a grate on the outside of the building to let the smoke out but not the allow snow or water in—and other such devices, she did not feel encumbered. She was Christine and he was Erik. Nothing more, nothing less.

As she stood at the mirror of her dressing room, she felt his gaze on her back, memorising each and every fold of fabric in her dress. She had not bothered to change out of the clothes he had bought her this time. He felt gratitude over this. She was accepting him into her life instead of shunning him into the make believe world below the Majestic. He leaned back only minimally when she turned round in the admittedly cramped space.

'Erik, will you listen tonight?' she asked, looking into his practically glowing yellow eyes.

'This and every night you grace the world with your voice.'

Christine felt her breath disappear a moment. When had it ever done _that_ before?

'Bonne soirée, ma chérie,' he told her, lifting her hand and bowing slightly. He had considered being the absolute gentleman and kissing her soft knuckles, but decided not to curse her with such a touch. Having her fingers rest gently in his bare hand was maddening enough.

She ducked to hide a blush creeping up to her cheeks. She nodded, muttered a quiet good evening, and started through the mirror. It was only when she found her hand would not follow that she turned.

'Christine.' He said it with the desperation she had known earlier. 'If you should ever wish it, you are forever welcome in my home. I want you to know that.' He looked askance but did not release her hand.

'Thank you, Erik.' She paused before saying his name. It was like spoken silk and it sent a shiver rippling through his spine. She even squeezed his fingers ever so slightly before pulling them free from his relenting grasp.

He watched her walk into the darkened dressing room and out into the light of the hallway beyond. He heard the faint humming of the crowd in the café. His darling would most likely have a full house tonight. Good, he thought, she deserved all of the world to come drooling at her feet.

Slinking off, he made his way through to what he found to be a prime spot where he could both see and hear her perfectly. She was gorgeous under the house lights as the band warmed up. The managers were just now leaving the stage, most likely prodding her for information as to where she had been and how she had made such a speedy recovery from her sudden illness. He gritted his teeth to think she should have to deal with that, but she did not look too stressed by it.

The band started up and she opened her glorious mouth to sing. She did her normal set and then decided to delve into a few different songs as the band found themselves enjoying their jobs again. She was wonderful with their improvisations and dips and sways in their music. She could handle anything they threw at her and complimented it effortlessly.

It was because of all this that Erik barely noticed when Christine's line of sight changed to one table in particular. At it sat a very worried looking Raoul. Her smiling eyes gave him little in the way of assurance that everything would go any differently from the last few nights he had come to see her perform.

* * *

When this final song was sung and a silence clung to the air for dear life, she waited, looking at Raoul with what she hoped were reassuring eyes that all would go according to plan tonight. She had come to understand that Erik had no real intention of taking her away again unless she asked it of him. He had set himself up to endure his loneliness until she came calling.

At last the audience caught up and applauded excitedly. More than one cat call and whistle pierced the previously still air. She bowed daintily, turned and thanked the band, who returned the bow, and then quickly left the stage. This time she did not feel faint. This time she went running towards the main room of the café instead of to the dressing room door. This time she went to Raoul instead of Erik.

The young sailor had just managed to stand up after paying his bill of meagre amount when she came bustling over to him. She had retrieved her purse from behind the bar, made a quick excuse to Meg about being absent in the day and promise she felt better, and now tugged Raoul's arm out the door.

'Woah, woah! Give a fella a chance!' he protested amusedly, turning to her on the sidewalk.

'Sorry, I just wanted to make sure nothing detained us again,' she said, feeling oddly breathless.

'Well, I can understand that,' Raoul nodded knowingly. 'How are you feeling, by the way? After your Houdini act last night, I was told you were sick and went home.' He looked at her a bit more pointedly now.

Christine grimaced a bit. 'I'm sorry. I really wasn't feeling well. I'm sorry for disappearing…both times,' she admitted.

'So,' he softened his suspicious eyes to an expression more of hope. 'Does dragging me out here mean you actually want to take me up on my offer of dinner?' he asked.

'It still stands?' She looked at him with a bit of surprise for his endurance and determination.

'So long as I'm in New York with you.' He held his arms out invitingly.

She melted into an easy smile. 'Thank you,' she sighed. 'My week has been somewhat hectic. Well, my last decade has been hectic.'

'Hey, no problem. You know, I'm told I can be a pretty good listener if you wanted to talk about it.' He held out his arm and nodded down the street.

Christine took a moment to enjoy his smile. It was effortless and pure. She had missed this simplicity. Taking his arm, she let him walk her down the street to a calm Italian restaurant and order them pasta.

'So,' he started again, enjoying how the candle on the table illuminated her pretty features. She had always been pretty, but now that she was grown, he found her more irresistible. 'A decade is a long time to be up in the air.'

'Are you sure you want to hear this story?' she asked, eyeing him with the vain hope he would drop the subject. If she remembered anything from their time as children, though, she knew that he would not let something that was bothering her go undefeated. He had so gallantly proclaimed at the age of twelve to be her sworn protector.

'Christine, I haven't seen you in years and when I do you mysteriously go missing both times I ask you out. Of course I want to know. Besides wanting an explanation, I hope to still call myself your friend,' he told her earnestly.

Sighing, she nodded and began to explain the troubles of watching over her father as he died slowly from the wasting disease of tuberculosis, living with the Girys and getting to know them and Paris, moving to America to get a job, and finally about the daily trials of living in an expensive city on one's own.

'But that doesn't explain the disappearances,' he told her, wondering if he ever would know the truth.

'No, but I—'

'Christine,' he interrupted, taking her hand and sheltering it with his own. 'If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But if you're in some kind of trouble, I want to help you. You said you had something of an overbearing music teacher. Has he threatened you? Has he hurt you?' He started to grow angrier by the mere mention of Christine in danger.

'No! No, he's not like that. He's…' How could she explain that Erik was in love with her without making Raoul jealous or angry or suspicious?

'Is he older than you?' he asked, sensing her hesitancy in telling about her illusive teacher.

'Yes,' she answered, wondering if she could or should make Erik out to be an old, decrepit man who was strict but harmless. That would be very far from the truth, and most likely get her in more trouble than the lie was worth. Thankfully, Raoul moved on without asking any further questions on the matter.

'Is he handsome?'

Christine stopped there. Images of Erik's deformed visage flashed before her eyes. She had thought of it often when looking at him and had become somewhat accustomed to the memory, but his eyes flaring with rage would be forever a sight of fear for her. 'Not in the common sense, no.'

Raoul seemed to relax a bit at this. Her continued vagueness in describing the man still bothered him, but if the man was older and not good looking then he had little to worry about. Perhaps he had been overreacting and growing jealous over nothing.

'How long has he been teaching you?' he asked, watching her face carefully. She seemed to take on a somewhat dreamy look when her tutor was mentioned.

'Four years now. He's really not bad, Raoul. He's helped me a lot. I don't know where I would be without him.' She thought back to her contemplations back under the Majestic. What would her life be without Erik?

'Well, if you say he doesn't bother you, then I guess it's all right. But I really would have liked an explanation as to why you weren't in the dressing room when I came back for you. It was like you had disappeared into thin air,' he protested.

'I know, I'm sorry. I just had somewhere I needed to be and didn't have time to tell you. I had forgotten about it, you see, and I—'

Raoul raised his hand, one she realised had been holding hers the whole time. 'It's all right. You're here now and that's all that matters.' He smiled at her again and her legs felt like jelly. The way his sharp blue eyes twinkled when he smiled was rather charming.

Finishing their meal, Raoul offered to take her around Central Park for a walk. She assented, noting that it was not too cold or warm out. Spring seemed to finally be coming to New York. The thousands of lights filtered into the trees a bit before disappearing entirely. Though the raucous sounds of the city went on around them, Christine did not notice them when walking next to Raoul along the pathways of the park.

He talked of his family and all of the drama which had come to it these past few years. He told her about his joining the Navy and all that entailed. He explained a few of the cleaner jokes he and his friends had shared and found her laughing along with him.

'I suppose you'll be shipping out soon,' she said somewhat grimly as they started walking back to her apartment.

He looked at her and wished with all his might that he could say no, but he could not. He had a duty to fulfil to his country and to his military. 'Yeah, I do.'

'How long?' She glanced up at him, hiding a grin at how his blonde curls fought to stay swept back.

'Two weeks or so, but that's just to go up and down the coast. We will only be gone about a month that time, then we come back to New York for a week. After that, well, it's going to be the long haul.' He sounded tired and a bit nervous, but still determined as ever.

'Where will you go over there?' she asked.

'Not really supposed to say exactly, and I'm not even entirely sure, but I think we're going to England to help out there. If we can clear it up a bit, then we may come back here.'

Christine shivered at how flexible all of this seemed. Nothing was certain or set in stone. There was no guarantee that he would be back or even make it all the way there. They might run into a sub or get blown apart by just about anything. These thoughts made her cling to his arm a little tighter. She wanted her childhood friend to be safe. Raoul was a nice boy, a nice man now, and she did not think he deserved the fate which had already come to so many military men.

'Hey,' he stopped, sensing her troubled thoughts. 'It's all right.'

'What if you don't come back, though?' This was the question many women in cities all over the world asked or at least thought about.

Tipping her chin up with his thumb, he looked into her deep hazel eyes and saw starlight. 'Christine, there is nothing I want to do more with my life than dedicate it to saving the world. If I don't do this, no one will.'

'That's not true. People all over the world are going to war,' she protested.

'Yeah, but they might need me. Please don't worry about this. It's what I want. I promise.'

Christine nodded, though she why. Why would anyone want to risk their life to destroy another's? What good would come of it, really?

She did not voice these thoughts, though, as they climbed the stairs to her apartment. They stopped at her door and she weighed the options of inviting him in. Once more, however, he helped her from facing the troubles of these complicated questions.

'Will I see you tomorrow, ma chèrie Diva?' he asked in a somewhat joking tone.

She felt her grin fade slightly as the memory of Erik's sentiment from earlier by the mirror echoed through her. He had been so sincere, and his eyes so pleading.

Snapping back to reality, she noted Raoul was starting to look at her funny, wondering if she was all right. 'I look forward to it,' she told him, making him smile in relief.

With a quick parting for the night, she went into her room and tried to shut out the combating thoughts about the two men in her life.


	20. Chapter 20

Meg had watched Christine for years. Meg had been there to hold her hand when Gustave was interred. She had been there to bounce and giggle over the childish fantasies of running off to America and finding a lovely fellow to have a fun life with. She looked at Christine now, knowing all she knew about her and really wondered what was going on.

For months—no—years, Christine had been quiet, reserved, and against all gaiety entering her life. Now, all of a sudden, she was smiling brightly and her eyes shone with happiness. Meg had always been somewhat envious of her dearest friend in her natural beauty, but she practically glowed now. There was something else, though. Something lurked in the shadows of her smile that made Meg worry. She pulled her aside the moment she walked through the doors of the Majestic.

'First you're ill, and now you're beaming, what are you, the weather?' Meg asked, leaning in conspiratorially.

Christine looked at her friend for the first time in a couple years. Really looked at her. Round chin, soft blue eyes which looked as though they held the ocean, perfectly curled platinum blonde curls to make Ginger Rogers jealous, and a gentle nose. She was pretty, stylish, and fun. Why did nothing unusual ever happen to Meg? Why were the pretty girls always immune and she thrown under the bus of odd occurrences?

'I'm sorry, Meg,' Christine started, knowing there was no possible way she could explain everything. Remembering Raoul's suspicious glances when she hedged the truth, she knew it would have to be the same with Meg. She wished it was not, though. The two of them had been like sisters for years, sharing every secret story as if it were life and death. 'I have just had a lot going on lately. I wish I could tell you more.' She looked about nervously, hoping to put a quick end to the soon to be intrusive conversation.

'Well, for starters you can explain who that handsome young man is. You know, the one you dragged out without so much as goodbye to yours truly.'

'I did say goodbye,' Christine protested.

Meg only raised an eyebrow and looked at her friend knowingly.

Christine sighed. 'Fine. His name is Raoul Chagny and he is an old friend from when we were kids. He's in the Navy and every time he's tried to ask me out, something manages to come up, so I had to make sure it worked this time,' she spilled, wondering how far this would go before delving into a subject she did not wish to explore.

'Fair enough. But what about your mysterious illness yesterday?'

'I forgot to eat lunch and I was stressed about…everything.' She saved herself there. Meg knew Christine's financial life was not the most stable, and she often would get too stressed about everything because of it.

'Why didn't you tell me? I could have found you a sandwich or something!' Meg held her friend by the shoulders as if she were about to pass out now. She was well aware that Christine rarely approved of asking someone for help out of fear of inconveniencing them, but getting sick over not eating was ridiculous.

'Well, I'm fine now,' Christine brushed off. 'You don't have to worry about me.'

'Like Hell I don't,' Meg protested. 'You always do this kind of stuff to yourself. _This_ is why you need to get out more.' She gestured to Christine as a whole. Her dress, long outdated but still somehow stunning was only a testament to that.

Where Meg wore only the height of fashion with her sweetheart bodice and tight flare-shirted dress of black and floral print, Christine wore a simple green dress with a scoop neck and a plain tie at the front. Meg shook her head, but noted how the emerald green flared in her friend's hazel eyes. Even with the out of style length of the skirt—Meg's coming naturally up to the top of the knee as fabric was needed for the war—her friend looked beautiful.

'Mind your language before your mother catches you, and you needn't be such a mother hen. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.' Christine tried her hand at boldness, but it only came off as being motherly.

Meg huffed in disbelief. 'So says you,' she muttered.

'Meg,' Christine sighed. 'If you give me one more talk about how I dress or never go out to your strange parties all over the city, I swear I'll—'

She never finished that thought as Mrs. Giry chose that moment to come up to them.

'Are you two going to talk, or are you not wishing to be employed longer?' She gave them both a stern eye, but her smile towards Christine showed she did not mind so much. Truly she did not as the girls had not gossiped about much in years. She often worried about Christine's quiet and reserved nature. It was with this worry that she pulled the girl she had often thought of as a second daughter aside.

'Christine, dear, is everything all right? I have noticed you have been acting a little strangely these past few days,' she asked in hushed tones.

'Oh, yes, I am fine. Just a bit busy is all,' she excused, hoping to simply move on with her day without being interrogated by yet another concerned friend, to whom she could explain nothing.

'Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, you know I'm here,' she offered, eyeing the girl closely one last time.

Christine hesitated one moment, wondering if she should tell Mrs. Giry at least some of it, but decided she should take some time to think it over herself first. 'Thank you as always, Mrs. Giry,' she told her ducking away to get on with work before the customers started to come in.

She worked as she always did, not thinking about the unseen eyes which may be watching her, or about the ones which would soon be awaiting her once she sang. She was honestly looking forward to going out with Raoul that evening, wondering what he would have in store for them now that he might have a bit of time to plan. She had enjoyed getting out into the city a bit the night before. So rarely did she have the time to walk around that she was beginning to feel a bit trapped. From her apartment to the bookshop to here, she felt like a prisoner to a city that held so very much potential.

Finishing her cleaning with Meg and their restocking without incident, she went backstage with the newly arrived band to discuss their line-up of songs for the evening. As always, they valued her gentle input and marvelled at how easy she was to work with. She was miles away from the monstrosity of Carlotta and her ridiculous demands. They told the young singer their horror stories of working with the wicked woman and all voiced their great hopes that Christine would stay for many years to come.

They went on, she sang, spotting Raoul in the crowd easily for his brightly shining smile. He was excited to see her and say that he knew her to anyone nearby. She looked to him, feeling his infectious glow spread through her features, but her voice, her soul, still belonged to the unseen shadow of a man she could only assume lurked somewhere in the dim café. She could feel those amber eyes eating into her with nothing but the most desperate devotion. He still loved her. Perhaps he always would.

Fighting off the disheartening thoughts, she went over to Raoul after the show and asked how he liked it. He was almost without words, but managed somehow. He nearly immediately asked if she would like to go out again and she readily accepted, going over to the bar to gather her things and rolling her eyes at the cheeky wink Meg threw her.

They went out and before long, the threat of those hurt yellow eyes faded from her mind. She focused on the man before her, talking with so much enthusiasm and joy over everything. Nothing was imperfect in his eyes beyond the war. So long as the skies were blue, though inky as they may be in the night time of the city, he would be happy. He promised her fun as they took a cab to see a show at a small theatre.

They watched talented dancers, a few comics who were just shy of comedy, and singers who sounded harsh when compared to Christine's angelic tones. Still, they cheered, laughed, and applauded them all.

'I did not know Vaudeville was still going,' she told him as they left the quaint theatre, no more than a hole in the wall. She was beaming with the excitement that each performer had felt. She could feel their hopes of using the stage to become something more. Their hopes, some only just starting to fade, were contagious.

'Aw, see, you just have to know where to look. Talent is all over this city.' Raoul threw his head back and swung his arms wide. She could only giggle at his theatrics.

'Say,' he continued, piercing her eyes with the light in his. 'Do you think I could ever learn to dance like that?' he asked, doing a very poor rendition of a soft shoe number that they had seen. He stopped when he nearly tripped over his own feet.

'Careful!' she cried, laughing more openly now as she moved to catch his fall.

'Guess my talent doesn't lie in dancing,' he admitted with his same grin. 'But I guess comedy will have to do.'

'Why do you say that?' she asked, looking at him and hoping he would not try singing next. She remembered well the time he had attempted to join her in song as a child and had stopped when she told him he sounded like a drowning cat. He had laughed even then, never one to make too much of a joke.

'Because I made you laugh.' He looked at her, his smile now sobered slightly and his eyes shining a bit more darkly. It was not a threatening darkness, simply one which made her blush profusely.

'Thank you for tonight, Raoul,' she told him with her eyes downcast and her cheeks still bright. 'I haven't had fun like this in a very long time.'

Raoul looked at her with a glint of worry over her. He wondered how she had lived so long without enjoying her life. She deserved to have fun and laughter with her always.

'I guess I just never thought about a big city having so much life in it,' she continued, looking up at the ever present lights and sounds.

'No,' he told her, looking at her seriously and taking her hand so she would face him. 'It's not the city that has life, it's the people. It's you, Christine. You are so much more than meets the eye, if you were only bold enough to show it.'

Christine blushed again, but let her smile harden some. 'Maybe I do, but only to the people who are worth showing.'

Raoul felt a thrill run through him as he looked into the depths of her eyes. No movie star had ever had deeper eyes than Christine. She would look into your heart and soul in an instant, but you only got the feeling of scratching the surface of hers. He was instantly entranced by them and felt himself start to lean forward a bit. He worried part way there that she would object, but she did not. She came in, too, her eyes fluttering closed just before his.

Christine felt her lips touch his and an electric current ran through her. She inhaled a bit when his hand came up to cup the back of her head and his other slide from her hands to her waist. She felt his strong fingers glide through her hair and wondered why they were not longer. She felt a slight tug at her waist and wondered why his arms were not thinner and more protecting.

It was in that moment that she realised she was imagining someone else's embrace.

Breaking the kiss, she looked down immediately, her cheeks flushing furiously. She tried to get her mind back in order after its rebelling thoughts. How dare it ruin her moment with Raoul! She had never even dreamed of kissing anyone, let alone _him_.

'Christine, I-I am so sorry,' Raoul stuttered, realising he had moved too quickly. 'I should have—I am so sorry.'

'It's fine, Raoul. It's not your fault,' she told him, turning away embarrassedly. She waited it out as an awkward silence fell between them.

Raoul cleared his throat somewhat unnecessarily, but hoping to dispel the moment of discomfort. 'Shall I, uh, walk you back to your apartment? I know you have work in the morning,' he told her, scratching the back of his head and looking anywhere but her. He felt like such a fool.

'Sure,' she answered, also not meeting his eye.

They walked with considerable distance between them all the way. He stopped this time outside the front doors of the building. They wished a quiet goodnight to each other before parting.

* * *

Erik could not help it. When he saw her now, he simply wanted to be near her. He wanted to hold her to him and never let her go, but he knew that was wrong. She did not wish for that as he did. He felt a guilt, then as he followed her out into the evening. He kept his distance, silently envying the boy every time he dared to touch Christine. He was tall, well built, and handsome. Erik hated him.

He waited outside of the Vaudeville theatre in a shadowed alleyway. He did not wish to subject himself to the potentially half-good quality of the performers. He had been put through enough of that in the years of Carlotta's singing. He looked down at the pavement and wondered what the Hell was making him do this. He should just leave her be and suffice himself to seeing her when she performed and if she ever decided to grace him with her heavenly presence again. She had sounded hopeful in doing so, but he missed her company. He was so used to having her to himself every night, it was hard to go without her. He was happy she was doing well in her performances, but he would always miss the time when it was just the two of them.

He was roused from his thoughts when he heard her crystalline voice as they left the theatre. He was just about to take one more glance before heading back to the Majestic and possibly his bottle of brandy when he heard her laugh burst through the air.

He whipped his head round to see her laughing, hardly succeeding in hiding it behind her hand as was her wont with him, and looking at that clown of a boy while he horrendously danced. Erik felt his blood boil to see her smiling so in the boy's company. She smiled with him, to be sure, but never quite like this.

His heart managed to sink further, though, when the boy's face grew more serious. He was looking at her not as someone to entertain anymore. It was a look Erik knew to be on his own face very often. He had a mask to hide it, thankfully.

It was not until they kissed that he felt true hatred, despair, and pain rip through him at once. It took his breath away in a harsh gasp. It would have been a scream had he not somehow managed to quench it in his throat.

He forced himself to look away, feeling tears of too many emotions prick his eyes. He felt his feet move underneath him, but all he wanted to do was collapse into a heap and die. His world was ending as he flew unheeding of unwanted eyes through the night. He was done for. He would crawl into his hole in the ground and die. He would go with memories of her smiling face in his mind. He would die remembering the feel of her skin against his. But he would die knowing that she had kissed that boy and his sealed his fate. It was all done with now. He had only to wait for the hand of death to creep over him and for the unending void of darkness to swallow him whole.

He barely cared as he crept back into the Majestic and rode the elevator down to his home. He did not bother to turn on the lamps as he staggered to his room. He ripped the mask from his horrid face and climbed into his coffin. He felt the tears roll down his face, but he did not care. He hoped that foolish boy was happy. He hoped he loved her as much as Erik.

Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine life before her. He tried to remember what it was like to roam through the walls unseen and unheard, causing a little mischief here and there when he found life to be too dull. Of course, before her, he had not been a _he_. He had been an _It_. Perhaps that would suit better again.

It lay there in the coffin, awaiting death or something better. Perhaps the boy would finally get the truth from her and come hunting. Maybe It would finally be put out of It's misery. That boy would have slain the monster and saved the lovely lady. Would she cheer that the beast was dead? Would she kiss her valiant hero and thank him? Would she even care? Christine…

 **A/N: Wanted to put this in at a moment that wouldn't cause spoilers. On the case of It's vs Its. I know its is possessive, but when referring to a person and possessive we put in the apostrophe: Christine's or Meg's. I use a capitalisation of this word to make it a name (like the Stephen King character It). This is why It's works. I am referring to a name and being possessive. I hope this makes some sense.**


	21. Chapter 21

The next three days went blissfully by in much the same fashion for Christine and Raoul. She was only slightly concerned to find that there was no voice calling her to lessons after her performances. Even the sensation of adoring amber eyes seemed to fade. She was too busy enjoying New York City for the first time to really notice, though. Even better, her employer at the bookshop gave her weekends off without too much docking in her pay. She was feeling happy when around Raoul and spending more time as herself, she felt.

Saturday morning sprang up with a promise from Raoul for some excitement. He had asked her and Meg to meet him at the Majestic around eight o'clock. When they got there, Meg dressed in a carefree black and white polka-dot dress and Christine in a red one to match—a gift from the former—they were both surprised to see not only Raoul, but another gentleman.

'Ladies,' Raoul announced when they were close enough. 'This is one of my shipmates and best friends. Now, I've made him promise to be on his best behaviour, so if he is anything but chivalrous you let me know.' He beamed at the ladies, nodding to his friend who was now eyeing him bitterly for his joke.

'Ah, you must be Tom. Raoul's mentioned you often.' Christine shot him a somewhat telling grin of mischief.

'And you must be the lovely Christine our boy here never shuts up about,' Tom said, smiling politely and ducking to take Christine's hand in an old fashioned and a bit cheesy bow.

'Mhm, and this is Meg.' She waved to the blonde who was doing anything but hiding.

'Pleased to meet you.' Meg nodded along, eyeing the man and sizing him up. Christine had to hide an eye roll at this. Leave it to Meg to scout the crowd. Finally, Meg walked closer to Tom, looping her arm in his as they moved off to their surprise destination.

'I think you're going to love this, Christine,' Raoul told her, taking her arm and beaming.

'I'm sure I will. Thank you for letting me bring Meg along,' she smiled back at him, feeling their strides match up despite their height difference.

'Of course! I wanted you to meet one of the guys, but I thought you might feel better with a little help.'

'Well, if I had more friends I would have brought a date for everyone on the ship.'

'Ah, it's all right. I'm sure those guys are doing just fine on their own.'

'And Tom seems to be taken,' Christine noted, smiling back over her shoulder as the cleverly inserted Meg laughed and talked effortlessly, keeping her hold firm on the obviously well off man.

'Yeah, she could do worse,' Raoul agreed jokingly.

Laughing and chatting, they all took the subway out to the piers and into the bright and colourful cacophony of Coney Island.

Christine had thought she had seen the bright lights of New York, but looking at the flashing bulbs on every ride, stand, and sign, she felt dazzled. She looked around, wide-eyed, at every sight and listened with childlike excitement to every sound. The calling to see false wonders of the world, the heckling for impossible games with little prizes, and the assurances of enjoyment upon the plethora of rides filled the air.

Raoul watched her eyes alight and her smile just get bigger and bigger. 'What do you want to do first?' he asked her.

'All of it!' She turned to him and in her eyes was the child he had fallen for all those years ago. She was happy and brilliant like the sun.

'Lead the way,' he told her with a dramatic sweep of his arm. He smiled as she bounced along the dock, stopping every so often to smell the salty air, to look in one of the booths, to point something out, or to simply make sure he was still by her side.

Taking her arm, he led her over to a house of mirrors, making fun with their reflections, won her a stuffed dog from a ring toss, and then took her up on a Ferris Wheel with a cone of cotton candy. The whole while, her smile never faded, and her eyes were never dulled. They spent hours of fun out in the sunlight, making Christine realise how much she had missed it for all of her night-time adventures.

Shuffling closer, he put his arm boldly around her shoulders in the car of the massive wheel. She seemed a bit nervous as to the height of the thing, and squeaked a bit when it stopped.

'It's all right,' he assured her when the car rocked some. 'It's supposed to do that,' he explained, noting the beautiful late afternoon sunlight filtering into her hair. _She_ looked beautiful.

'I suppose we'll have to head back soon so Meg and I can go to work,' she told him, also realising how quickly the day was passing.

'Don't worry about that. Just enjoy the time we have. I mean, where else are you going to find a view like this?' He gestured to the sun shimmering in the water and she smiled in reply.

'Thank you for today, Raoul. I don't think I ever had so much fun in my life than I have with you,' she told him, looking into his blue eyes and seeing the whole ocean.

'I know I certainly haven't. You make it all shine, Christine.' He gazed at her all the more deeply. She smiled at her feet.

Tipping up her chin as he had so many times before, he found her hazel eyes and locked onto them. 'Your smile's too pretty to go around hiding. A guy could get jealous of the ground when all you do is look at it,' he told her with his usual humour mixed with his acquired New York accent. He had spent enough time and effort into picking it up that he doubted he would ever go back to the French he had grown up with. That life seemed far too constrictive. All of it tied with position and class. Here it was all equal ground. No one would sneer at him if he married a woman below his rank. Here, he had no rank beyond his military status.

He started to lean in, his eyes still holding hers, and she began to worry. What if it still did not feel right? She had not found the time to think it all through yet. She wanted to have more time to know where her heart truly lay. Was it here in the clouds with Raoul? Or underground with Erik? She wished for a middle ground. She wanted something where she could put her feet down and know she could stand in the sunlight without being blinded. Raoul was always so happy and he was her friend so long ago, but Erik was so supportive and her confidant for many years. Neither seemed right to her.

Somewhat thankfully for her, Raoul's moment was interrupted when the Ferris Wheel started to move again. He snapped back a bit when he realised they were moving and cursed the man in charge of the ride for not giving him just a moment longer.

As they descended and exited the car, Christine looked anywhere but Raoul. She felt a certain discomfort at knowing what had almost happened again. She vowed that as soon as she got a moment to herself tonight, she would think this all through and possibly find a way to not feel guilty. She could embrace him and not feel terrible, but kissing was something different. He had been her first kiss in all her life and she had imagined it was someone else. How pathetic.

Joining back up with Meg and Tom, she snickered to see to what lengths the petite blonde had managed to ensnare her escort. Tom was carrying a Teddy bear animal almost as big as Meg.

'I see you played some of the games,' she said, noticing that Meg's arm was linked with Tom's still.

'Oh, yes, and Tom won me this.' She pointed behind her.

'And he gets to carry it, lucky him.' Christine eyed her friend accusingly.

'It's all right,' Tom said from beneath a mountain of fluff.

'But how are we going to get it onto the subway?' Christine asked, ever the rational thinker.

'Oh, I didn't think about that.' Meg tapped her lip in honest contemplation. This won another eye roll from her brunette friend.

'I'll call her a cab,' Tom offered, speaking up in his smooth voice. Meg opened her mouth to object, knowing how expensive cabs could be when one was in desperate need. They seemed to sense your being in a tight spot and jack up the prices just for you. Tom only raised his hand in insistence.

Christine leaned into Raoul's arm as they walked back towards regular civilization. They finally hailed a taxi, determining that Meg and Tom would ride back to her apartment to drop off the prize-animal, and Raoul would take Christine on to the Majestic. He wanted a bit of time alone with her anyway. Even though they had spent most of the morning on their own, Raoul wished to speak with her a bit more privately.

They got into the subway car, which was surprisingly empty for this time of day, and rode back. Raoul glanced at her every few seconds, noticing something was wrong.

'Did you have a good time today?' he asked, concerned for her but not wishing to seem too bothersome.

'Yes, I did. I had never been there before,' she told him, placing a smile on her lips. It did not reach her eyes, but she hoped he would not see.

'I had only been once, myself. It was a lot more fun to have you with me,' he continued, searching her features for anything that may tell him what was troubling her. Deciding just to go ahead and bite the bullet, he braced himself. 'Is everything all right?'

She looked at him a moment too long. 'I'm fine.'

'Really? Because you seem kind of down.'

'I'm just thinking about work tonight,' she hedged. She was thinking about the Majestic this evening, true, but it was more in line with who resided below its floors that garnered her attention.

'I'm sure you'll be wonderful just like every night,' he assured her, reaching over and rubbing her shoulder bracingly. He smiled, and she returned it weakly. Taking this as just nerves, he ploughed on through with other topics. Christine drifted in and out of them, leaning into his shoulder as the subway car rattled down its underground track.

Raoul was a very nice man, and he put her at ease nearly every time he smiled, but there was something missing. Something she needed more than the comfort of an average life. His words and promises were all very normal and any girl should want them. He gave her space and listened to her when she talked, but she always felt a bit lacking. She worried she was not cheerful enough or common enough to hold his interest. He talked of joining the war and she only wished for it to be over. He spoke of stability later and she just wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere now. She had cut a life for herself here, but she never felt like she should be as satisfied with it as she was. Staying with Raoul would most definitely bring that. He would go off to war, have his taste of glory, come home a hero and settle her down somewhere to have an ungodly number of children, just like the world expected. Not that she had any great aspirations, but being average never seemed to work out as well for her as she might like.

Before she knew it, they were walking down the street towards the café. Stepping up to the door, she idly noticed the smoke was not coming from Erik's special grate. Perhaps he was warm enough down there without the fireplace.

'Well, I'm afraid we have to report to the dock this weekend, but I'll see you Monday after the show and we can go get dinner then,' he said, dragging her away from her thoughts.

'All right. Don't worry about it too much. I don't want you to get in trouble over me,' she assured, patting his arm as he still held hers.

'You're sure?' He looked at her with that worry creeping in again.

'I'll be fine. I'm a big girl and can handle myself for a couple nights,' she told him with a false bit of bravado.

'Then I will see you Monday.' He bowed theatrically to her once more and walked off down the street. Christine watched him a moment, noting his slightly bounce gait. His broad shoulders and narrow waist cut quite the figure. His golden curls shone a bit in the sunlight and his smile could be felt all the way down the street.

Turning, she walked in the door of the café, wondering what new adventure awaited her in the slightly dimmed establishment.

* * *

Christine soaked in the applause as usual after her performance. She felt a bit of a blank space when looking out into the audience and not seeing Raoul smiling up at her, but she was more worried about the faded eyes she felt on her from their usual hidden spot. Something was wrong, but she could not quite place what, yet.

Stepping down from the stage into the hallway, she nodded her thanks to the band while they continued for a bit longer. The managers had decided to give her some nights off coming this week to highlight the band with some of Mr. Miller's pieces. She looked forward to spending more time with Raoul in his last week before shipping off for a month.

She nearly screamed when she turned round to see a tall—but not as tall as she remembered—shadow looming in front of the door to her dressing room. Gasping and clutching at her heart, she looked back nervously for fear that one of the band members had heard her mild squeak.

'Erik? What are you doing here?' she asked, noting how hunched his back looked as he faced away from her.

'It came to hear you sing. You sounded so beautiful,' he said in a cold and distant voice much unlike his own.

'Are you all right?' she came toward him, reaching out to touch his back while she searched out his eyes.

'It is fine,' was his only reply.

'It? Erik, do you want me to take you home?' she asked, starting to really worry about him.

He looked at her suddenly, his eyes alight as though she had just asked him if he wanted a kiss. 'Yes, It has a home.' Those eyes, so expressive when they wished to be, dulled almost instantly. 'It has a hole. Not fit for you. It is sorry.' He hung his head.

'Erik, come on. Let's just get down there and we can talk, all right?' she told him, starting to move him forward gently with one hand while she opened the door with the other. His back was thin and bony, much like the rest of him, but she thought it felt thinner than usual.

Letting him open the mirror, she helped him through. He seemed to straighten some as they walked down the dark hall, perhaps sensing she could not see as well as he could. He struggled a bit with the elevator door, but managed it open and closed when they were both inside. The ride was as snug as she remember but what worried her was the somewhat laboured sound of his breathing beside her. She looked up in the darkness, but his glowing eyes remained resolutely forward.

Once in his home, he opened the doors, this time with Christine's help. He staggered forward some when he stepped out, but she made sure to catch him. He felt her shiver a bit when she noticed his fireplace was not lit. It got unnaturally cold down in his home.

'Forgive It for not lighting the fire,' he told her, shuffling over to it and scrambling with the matches.

'Erik, it's fine. I'm mostly worried about you. You don't seem well.' She looked at him as he lit the fire. It illuminated him in an otherwise seemingly menacing light. She came over to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. His suit's shoulder pads did little to hide the sharply angled bones beneath.

He shivered when he felt her hand touch him. He closed his eyes to the warmth that slowly started to spread through the fabric to touch his skin.

'Oh, Christine,' he murmured in a whisper. 'You are so beautiful. It does not deserve you. It should not love you. It is sorry.' At this he leaned over and clutched at the fabric of her skirt, burying his face in its light material.

Christine did not know what to do. Her heart was pounding and her eyes pricked with tears. She did not understand what was happening. 'Erik?' she asked as though looking for him. She was not sure who was kneeling before and crying into her dress, but she knew it was not the man she had come to see.

'Erik, are you having another attack? Please tell me!' she begged, reaching down to take his hands.

'Oh, Christine!' he cried loudly before he wept more at the touch of her hands on his.

'Erik! Did I hurt you?' She let go instantly at his outburst, searching his face for signs of pain.

'Never! You are my Goddess and I the lowly slave set to worship at your feet. My beautiful and cruel Goddess!' He continued to cry, a delirious smile on his face while his eyes screwed up in suffering.

'Erik, are you drunk?' She looked at him in horror now, wondering what sort of trouble he had gotten himself into in her absence. He shook his head, leaving her to wonder what was wrong. A thought occurred to her and she reached down to put her fingers under his chin. Sure enough, his skin was hot. He had a slight fever. She worried for a moment if it was the same as what she had suffered earlier in the week, but put it aside as it would do little to help him now.

'When was the last time you ate?' she asked, wondering if food would help him. Again he shook his head, making her worry even more. His breathing was starting to slow some and she grew anxious he would faint. She was not strong enough to carry him, thin as he was. She would have to get him to a bed and fast.

'Erik, come on, get up. You need to lie down,' she told him, taking his arms and helping him to stand. He complied easily, though he did not stand up straight. Tears still rolled out from beneath the edge of the mask.

Looping his arm round her shoulders, she helped him towards the hallway. He looked to his bedroom, but Christine steered him resolutely towards the other bedroom.

'No, I'm not having you sleep in that awful coffin,' she told him when he leaned towards his bedroom door.

Erik stopped suddenly, nearly making Christine have both of them fall. She looked up at him with a bitterly frustrated eye. His eyes showed nothing but fear. She softened instantly, seeing nothing but a scared child in a man's body.

'It cannot sleep there. That is your bed. It cannot sleep in a Goddess' bed,' he told her, starting to sink again.

'No, Erik, no, don't give up on me,' she muttered, trying to heft him to his feet. It was no use, though. He was already on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him in supplication.

'It does not deserve your kindness,' he wept again. 'It is too hideous. It is sorry. It is sorry a monster loves you! It is sorry! Forgive It! Forgive It!' He broke down, grasping her sides with the gentlest tips of his fingers. He bowed until just the top of his head grazed her stomach.

'Erik, stop it!' She started to panic again.

'It lives in a hole and dreams of beauty! Forgive It!' he cried into her, not noticing how her stomach fluttered with rasping breaths.

'Erik, stop, please! Look at me.' She tried to lift his head to meet her eyes, but he would not move.

Christine felt her arms come round him, holding him. 'Stop it, Erik, you're scaring me!' she cried fully, letting her fearful tears drip down to his head. She caved at her diaphragm and held him to her tighter. 'Come back to me, Erik! I need you!'

Erik opened his eyes when he felt her sobbing breaths make her spine protrude. He looked up when he felt her tears run down his ear and mingle with his own just under the edge of the mask. He felt as though he were waking from a dream, though his mind was still in a fog.

'Christine?' he asked, his voice returning a bit.

She stood up to look at him, her eyes shimmering with tearful hope. When she saw him, his amber orbs glimmering with fearful concern, she let out a cry before bending down to hold him again.

'Don't leave me like that!' she wept into his shoulder.

'Oh, forgive It-me, my love,' he promised back, feeling his breath catch at her closeness.

She stood up again. 'Come on, we still need to get you in bed,' she told him with a firmness she hoped would move him.

He stood and let her help him into her room, guiding him over to the edge of the bed. He sat down and was about to take off his shoes when she started slipping his jacket from his shoulders. He froze when he saw her fingers come to unbutton his vest. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined her undressing him, even if it was only partially. When he was divested of all the harder parts of his ensemble, she gently went to his neck tie. He looked into her focused eyes and nearly wept all over again at how delicately she removed the silk tie and unfurled the knot. He gasped and nearly fell apart when she undid the first two buttons of his shirt.

His near death experience came when she ducked down and unlaced his shoes, carefully taking his ankle and prying them off. His whole body quivered when she touched his leg and he nearly missed her next question.

'Do you want your socks off?' she asked, looking up at him expectantly.

He just managed to shake his head when she asked the question which sent him reeling.

'What about your belt? Should I leave it on?'

How in the Hell was he supposed to answer that?! To say no would make her worry for his comfort, but to say yes would mean not only that he expected her to undress him like a child, but also for her to have her hands so close to…

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, feeling the idiot for looking like a fish out of water, and for not having an answer. Unfortunately, her mind seemed to somehow manage to catch up to his as her eyes lowered to the floor and her cheeks reddened as she realised her question.

Erik fell over, his eyes rolling back into his head a bit. His embarrassment knew no bounds, yet his body determined he should remain awake to continue his suffering from humiliation.

'Oh!' she cried, seeing him fall to his shoulder. Thankfully, his head landed on the pillow. Scurrying about, she managed to pry back the blankets and help him manoeuvre himself into a more comfortable position. He felt himself tip until he was lying face up on the pillow, his body caringly swaddled in bedding, and his darling Christine's voice muttering little assurances around him. He did not know if she was calming him or herself, but she was too beautiful this way for him to care.

'There,' she said, finally having covered him and tucked him in to her liking. 'Comfy?' she asked, looking at him and hoping he was not too warm.

He gazed at her a moment, only barely registering that the gorgeous way her lips moved meant she had spoken and that those words meant something other than the beautiful sound they made. He let his lips tug into the slightest of smiles as her pretty brow creased a bit. She was adorable when confused.

She came round the bed and sat lightly on the edge by his hip. 'I could take your mask off if it would make you more comfortable,' she offered, already guessing the answer.

Erik frowned and shook his head violently. His mouth now refused to work.

'All right, all right. It was just an offer,' she raised her hands in surrender.

Erik surprised her when his hand reached up to snatch hers. She looked at him with widened but unafraid eyes.

'Erik loves you,' he murmured. His eyes were drooping as fatigue took its toll once more. 'You make me human,' he said, just above a whisper.

Christine looked down at him with tears threatening again as he drifted off to sleep. No, her life was far from normal, and she doubted that would be changing any time soon.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: I want to take a moment to thank all of my guest reviewers, and Emmy6 who has disabled their PM (I understand). Everyone who takes the time to review this work makes me feel so happy. I worry sometimes that my writing isn't good enough or my stories interesting enough (I still doubt they are worth more than just basic fanfiction, as great as that can be), but you all are so nice, it makes me feel better. My wonderful friend and beta-reader, Phanatic01 also helps with this and I don't know how I could write without her looking these over and correcting my sometimes humorous mistakes. As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Be warned, there are feels involved!**

Erik was at first confused when he woke up to the soft comforts of a plush bed and warm blankets. Never in his life had he woken up this way. He had laid on cots, the hard ground, been covered by the thin sheet from a hospital bed, and even the admittedly comfortable interior of his coffin, but never in a true bed. He kept his eyes closed for fear that it would all disappear if he opened them.

He heard a gentle humming of music somewhere in the house, and wondered how his mind had put together where he was without telling the rest of him. Sure enough, when he opened his eyes, he was lying in Christine's room. He felt the soft sheets he had gotten her and the comforting warmth of the quilt placed on top. His body felt stiff and his head throbbed a bit, reminding him of what had awoken him.

He closed his eyes again, just trying to soak in all of the bits of his world right now. The gentle humming continued in its song, but softened considerably as it neared the bedroom door. He listened to it creak open, not daring to look. He kept his eyes closed, still fearful that the lovely dream would end if it were caught in the act.

He tracked the delicately padding steps as they neared the bed. He felt his brow crease as a weight was placed on the edge of the bed. It dipped a bit and a sweet fragrance filled his mind. Oddly enough, it did not stir his headache any further. He felt another dip in the bed, this one smaller and near his shoulder. A hand touched his jaw ever so slightly.

'Er-ik,' came the sweet song of a call. 'Erik, wake up.' She softly ran her thumb on the corner of his sharp chin.

He felt his lower lip tremble. He did not want this to end. Hoping to ensure her continued presence, he placed his hand over hers, pinning it to his neck.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Christine smiled so very sweetly down at him, her hair falling over her ears in escape and her eyes shone with a gentle light.

'Hi there,' she said in her beautifully musical voice.

He felt a small smile come to his face. His brow furrowed again quickly, though. 'How long was I asleep?'

'Just about ten hours. It's eight in the morning,' she told him, still keeping her voice soft. 'How do you feel?'

He hummed a grunting thought. 'My head hurts and my throat feels like the Sahara,' he told her tersely, regretting his tone instantly.

Christine amazed him by laughing, thinking it a joke. 'I'll get you some water, then.' She started to get up, but felt his hand on hers and the worry in his eyes. 'I'll be right back. I promise.' She looked at him with honesty ringing in her every word.

He looked down, nodding slightly. He let her hand go, but missed its warmth when the chill permeated his skin.

True to her word, she returned in barely a half minute, carrying a glass of water. She set it on the bedside table next to the lamp and moved to help him sit up. He protested quietly, but did not shun her touch. She then gave him the water and watched him drink it down completely.

'More?' she offered, taking the glass back.

He shook his head, sighing a bit before casting his golden eyes on her again. 'Christine, I'm sorry you had to see me like this. I'm sorry for being such a bother to you.' He looked down, ashamed.

'Erik,' she put her hand on his shoulder and leaned in, 'After all you've done for me? It's the least I can do. Besides, this makes us even from when I got sick.' She shrugged it off easily.

He gazed at her for the marvel she was. He was so happy to see her again. He turned away the darker themes his thoughts had formed in her absence. He had given up and forgotten how incredibly beautiful and kind she truly was.

'Did you sleep?' he asked, noting that she did not seem too exhausted.

She nodded with an assenting hum. 'Your couch is surprisingly comfortable.' She grinned at him and his despairingly astonished expression.

'I should not have made you do that. This bed was meant for you.' He started to move as if to get up, but her hand on his chest stopped him.

'Yes, and I decided you needed to sleep in it more. I would like to know why I had to, though.' She eyed him sternly.

Erik's heart dropped as he realised what he had stepped into. He looked down, unable to meet her eyes. Perhaps if he ignored them long enough she would forget and he could let his mistake die. Her gaze continued to pierce him, though, and he knew he would have to explain.

'I-I was upset,' he told her, wishing beyond reason she would let it drop from there.

'About what?' she asked, taken aback by his answer. She worried instantly if her seeing Raoul had upset him too much.

'I-I saw.' He seemed to be shrinking in on himself.

'Saw what?'

'K-kiss,' he uttered at last, now a ball of quivering Erik.

Christine opened her mouth to ask further when it finally hit. Her hand flew to her lips and she stared at him a moment in quiet shock. He had seen Raoul kiss her.

Her mind was a flurry. He was spying on her and Raoul that night, which disturbed and angered her. He had seen the kiss, which hurt her. And he had holed up in here and nearly died because of it. This shook her to her core. She knew he loved her beyond reason, but to simply see another man kiss her had sent him into a self-destructive spiral of depression. He had stopped thinking of himself as human and spoke as though he were outside of himself because he saw her with another man. He was so tied to her he could not function without her.

'Oh, Erik.' She looked at him with pure pity, reaching out to his shaking shoulder. As soon as her fingertips touched the fabric of his shirt, he started to cry out like a begging child.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!' He repeated it over and over, rocking back and forth as he hugged his shoulders to the point where it looked painful.

'Erik, stop. Hey, look at me. Stop. It's all right,' she begged, putting her hands on his shoulders and turning so that she fully faced him.

He stopped speaking, but kept his eyes closed tightly. He continued to rock gently.

'Erik, I don't like that you spied on me. But please, you don't need to make yourself sick over all of this,' she plead.

'I know. I'm sorry. I just couldn't—you looked so happy with him and I—I'm so sorry,' he stammered out.

Christine watched him a moment, feeling terrible, though she knew she should not. It was her life to live and he had intruded and been hurt. Still, she did feel badly for him. She had never meant to hurt him so.

Something in her urged her on. She slid her hands round his shoulders, one coming to entwine her fingers in his hair while the other rubbed his lower back soothingly. She held him close and continued to rock with him.

Erik slowly began to relax, calming into her gentle embrace. He still gasped a few times from his dry sobs. Eventually, though, he became bold enough to rest his cheek on her breastbone. He could feel the ghost of her ribs through her dress and worried for her. She seemed healthier than usual, though. It was just as he was closing his eyes to the gentle warmth and soft touch of her hands that he realised something very important.

In a quick gasp, he launched himself from her arms and drove from the bed, stumbling and falling when the sheets wrapped treacherously round his ankles. He heard Christine give a shocked and frightened cry at his actions, leaning over the edge of the bed to see if he was all right. He quickly untangled his legs and curled into a protective ball on the floor, his hands covering his face. His awful, unmasked face!

'Erik?!' Christine called, fear tingeing her normally gentle voice.

'Don't look at me!' he cried from his spot on the floor.

'Erik, what's wrong! Did I hurt you?'

'Yes! You did! You lying, little demon!' he shouted at her, though the sound was slightly muffled from the carpeted floor. Silence prevailed after this, though it was interrupted a moment later by the unmistakable gasp of a sob.

'I don't understand,' she muttered, tears evident in her voice.

'You little wench! You took my mask! I told you not to, but you did! You did it again!' he spat back, not moving, though his heart hurt.

'But I—'

'I should have known better! Nothing good ever comes to wretched Erik! I should have known! It was all some trick, wasn't it! Take off my mask, pretend to be nice, see how long it took me to notice, and then laugh at stupid little Erik! Foolish Erik who thought that for just a moment you could…' He stopped there to hear the silent sobs coming from the bed.

Unfurling just a bit, he waited for her to scream at him. He waited to hear her laugh. He waited for her to do anything but cry. He sat up, just peering over the edge of the bed to see her beautiful face marred with tears. Her mouth, through her sobs was uttering a thousand silent "I'm sorry"s. Erik's blood chilled as he realised what he had done.

'Christine,' he reached out to her, his voice full of remorse.

She flinched from him and let loose one of her sobs, stifling it with her hand.

'Oh, Christine.' He let his shoulders fall. He searched the room for his mask, but did not see it anywhere. He worried then what she had done with it. Deciding it did not matter much now, he crept gingerly onto the bed. He waited for her to fly away from him, but instead she remained. He reached out again, this time with an, 'I'm sorry.' This won him her diving into his arms with another unleashed sob.

His mind reeled. He could not think, he could not breathe, and he was fairly certain his heart was beating so fast it had become one continuous thump. He felt her body pressed against his for what he now realised to be the second time that day, only this time it was her seeking comfort from him. This thought sobered him as he understood that he would need to be the strong one. He could not let his thoughts travel to the unlikeliness of the situation but be grounded into making her feel better. To feel safe…in his arms.

He caught himself spinning a bit on this thought, but turned it to more immediately useful things. Wrapping his arms round her as though she were made of glass, he let his left rest on her lower back, while the right came up to smooth her hair delicately much like she had for him. Upon feeling some part of her relax slightly, he felt emboldened and took a bracing breath before tucking his hideous cheek in next to her temple. He let her curls bury his face in the gentle smell of vanilla and tulips. He let out the breath he realised he had been holding unintentionally. He murmured some soft words into her ear for comfort, but he could not for the life of him remember what they were. This seemed to do the trick as she slowly began to calm down.

'I'm sorry I took your mask. I just wanted you to be comfortable and to show you that I don't care whether you wear it or not,' she muttered into his now dampened shirt.

Erik took a moment of pause there, realising what this meant for him. He looked down at the most beautiful woman he had ever known as she clung to his waist and buried her face into his chest.

'It truly does not frighten you?'

She looked up then, taking his breath away. 'No. I don't think it ever did,' she told him.

Erik caught his gasping breath and held a flickering smile. He let one thumb rub away a tear trail from her cheek. 'It's not fair, you know,' he told her, taking in every detail of her. She cocked her head at him in the most adorable fashion. He felt his heart skip at this simple action. 'That you should look so beautiful when crying,' he explained.

She looked at him a moment before sliding through his arms to wrap her arms round his neck and settle on his shoulder. She felt him slowly curve to hold her properly. His breath tickled at her collar bone as he rested his head on her as well. She breathed in his scent as he did the same.

Erik sat there, wondering how he was ever expected to let this beautiful gem go. She was everything. Simply everything to him.

After a few long moments in each other's arms, Christine leaned back and let out a breathy laugh, pulling her hair behind her ear. 'Are you hungry?' she asked, realising she needed to step up and be the carer again.

'A little. Are you?' he asked, knowing he had better answer affirmatively if he wished to continue living.

'Getting there. What would you like? It's morning, so I can make you breakfast, or find something else if you prefer,' she told him, barely noticing how easily she slipped into regular life conversation with him.

'If you make it, I will happily eat it,' he promised her. He felt a tinge of regret when she raised a challenging eyebrow at him and grinned.

'Oh, really? Are you sure about that? You've never seen me cook,' she told him, a glint in her eyes making his heart race and his stomach drop.

'True, and I would very much like to. Very closely,' he added.

'Ah, I see. Clever you.' She smirked and slid from the bed. 'Let me see what we have while you get ready,' she told him over her shoulder as she left the room.

Erik looked after her a moment, wondering how he had been so lucky as to fall for her. Yet that same thought held a touch of darkness as he realised he was not the only one in her life who cared greatly for her. And she did not feel the same devotion to him as he did to his magnificent angel. Something would have to break soon, and he hoped against hope it was not himself, or her. He would die if it was her.


	23. Chapter 23

He watched her every move. Like a predator hunting his prey, he tracked her slightest gesture, the most hidden change in expression. All of it was studied as though he were running a strict experiment. Instead, he was simply watching her make them both breakfast. She kept her back to him for the most part as he leaned on the doorway in the living room. He was not entirely needed as the only bit of usefulness he had thus far been able to provide was his height in reaching something from his too high shelves. Every time, he would start to apologise for the inconvenience, and would attempt to duck from her eyes as his face—much to his chagrin—was still uncovered. But, being the angel she was, she managed to waylay his self-degradation by smiling at him pleasantly and thanking him for his assistance. God, how he loved her.

She had yet to set anything on fire, and seemed to be working with edible food, so he assumed all was well in her cooking skills. He had realised after his earlier assurances that he may have overstepped his confidence in her. He was confident, he trusted her, and he would never turn down her offerings of kindness as so few came his way in this world, but that did not erase all fear of unpleasant tastes in his near future.

At last, she turned to him, her apron—technically his and rather obviously so as it stretched down almost to her ankles—coated with bits of flour or possible powdered sugar. She smiled victoriously, making him grin a bit in appreciation.

''Tis done?' he asked, shoving off the doorway to stand before her. His posture was not as straight as he would have liked, and his mind still fogged a bit, but her presence in his home was certainly helping him.

She nodded, still smiling. 'And you promised to eat it.' She held up an accusatory finger and eyed him sharply.

'That I did.' He swallowed a painful lump in his throat as he realised there was the faintest chance he would not like it.

'Then go wash your hands and take your seat,' she told him, holding her head up like an imperious mother. At least, he assumed that was what she looked like. He had no real reference for the matter.

Trudging over to the sink as his feet were annoyingly heavy, he did as he was told. He was just about to grab the soap when his hands were joined by two more. Looking over in surprise, he saw Christine, just a breath away from touching his shoulder, leaning over the tall sink to wash her hands with his.

He froze, utterly enraptured by the sight of her. It was almost a full five seconds before he realised she had taken his hands and was rubbing soap between their entwined fingers. He held in the jolt of shock at her soft touch and small fingers mingling with his long, bony ones. What a monster he must seem when placed next to her.

It was at that moment—as though reading his mind—that she chose to grace him with the loveliest of smiles. He felt his heart clench and his cheeks redden, so he directed his eyes back to the sink, watching and feeling her beautiful hands on his in the warm water. She rubbed his knuckles and smoothed her thumbs over his palms until he thought he would melt. He tried to tell himself that she was just taking care of him. She pitied him because he had been sick. That was all.

He held in a disappointed groan when she turned the water off, but he was momentarily relieved when she took the kitchen towel and dried his hands off with hers. He nearly leaned in to put his forehead on hers for the sheer bliss her touch brought, but she was finished too soon. He waited a moment until she told him something about taking his seat at the dining table. He nodded, though he had not fully comprehended all of her words. He felt a tiredness overtaking him quickly. All of the crying and heart racing moments from earlier were taking their toll on his already weakened health.

Plopping rather gracelessly into his chair, he eyed the door to the kitchen. The wait was just long enough for the seed of fear to sprout within him and make him wonder if it was all a dream. Perhaps she had never truly come and his fevered mind had come up with it all before he finally succumbed to death.

Yet she came through the swinging door with ease, carrying two plates high enough that he could not see what they held. He caught her smile as she set the plate down before him.

A piece of buttered toast, some jelly, a still steaming sausage, and a bowl of fruit lightly coated in powdered sugar sat on the plate invitingly. When he looked up from his surprise he noted that she had ducked out for just a moment and was returning with tall glasses of water for them both.

He thanked her quietly as she sat down on the other end of the table and looked at him expectantly.

'You don't have to eat all of it if you don't want to, but do try to eat something. Let me know if you want something else,' she added more quietly. 'I know my cooking skills are somewhat limited,' she told him, now barely above a whisper as she started to hide in her hair.

'Christine,' he reached across the table to touch their fingertips together. 'I'm sure it's wonderful.' He found himself smiling again, only this time in comfort. She returned it timidly.

Looking down at his food, he was about to start when something else occurred to him. He had no mask on. He glanced up at her with sudden fear. Certainly she had dealt with it well all morning, but eating was different. He knew his horrid features would only contort more hideously while eating, though he had never suffered the sight himself.

Again, seeming to sense his feelings, she reached out to him, this time taking his hand.

'Erik, it truly does not bother me, but if you want, I will eat in the kitchen,' she told him in all honesty.

'No. If anyone is to be banished from the table it's me.' He looked down.

'Just try it, Erik. Please,' she pleaded gently with him.

He gazed at her a long moment before tentatively lifting up the toast. He took a bite, keeping his own eyes firmly closed, yet he heard nothing.

The crunching of the bread and the smoothness of the butter and jam made his stomach clench in long ignored hunger. He liked it, though. He felt a comfort come over him as he tasted it. He had eaten before—obviously—but never had he particularly enjoyed it. This he liked. His Christine had made it for him and him alone. She had thought of him while she made it. She had thought of him.

Opening his eyes, he saw she was now working on her own breakfast, cutting into the sausage determinedly. He stopped for a moment as he realised this was the first time he had ever shared a meal with anyone. He had always eaten alone at the orphanage, feeling singled out even then. He had eaten with the other men in the trenches, but that only qualified as food if you closed your eyes and wished really hard. He felt tears prick his eyes as he realised his first real meal was shared with the woman who owned his heart. His darling Christine had gone above and beyond what he had ever dreamed she would.

Sensing his eyes upon her, she looked up to see him staring. 'Is it all right?' she asked, swallowing her bite of sausage. He nodded in reply, still looking a bit dazed. She smiled back at him and briefly worried if he were going to be sick. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack. Still, he went back to his food, stealing glances up at her every now and then to check to see if she would disappear in disgust.

Erik finished more of his meal than he thought he would. He had never eaten so much in one sitting as he did with her. Every bite had brought that comfort that he had only briefly known that morning in her arms. Something about her made him feel like he was home. He knew he could be anywhere in the world and feel at home as long as she was beside him.

He looked up at her like the miracle she was when she came and took his plate. He offered to help her wash the dishes but she firmly insisted that he either go back to bed, or wait in the living room. Feeling he had been lethargic enough for one day, he wandered off toward the latter. He sat down in his favourite armchair, noting the blankets still crumpled and laid out on the couch.

After a moment of contemplation, he went over to it, taking up the blankets and carefully folding them and draping them over the back of the couch. He barely managed to hold in a gasp when he felt some of the deeper folds were still warm. He glanced at the kitchen doorway before pressing them to his cheek. He could smell her on them.

He happily saw that some of her long, curling brown hairs were on the pillow she had used for her head. He would have a constant reminder of her presence in these beloved simplicities. He would always remember their meal and treasure every tear she had shed for him. He would keep her memory with him as long as he lived.

'Oh, Erik. You don't need to do that,' she said from the kitchen doorway. He nearly walked forward to embrace her in thanks for all she had given him. 'I'm sorry.' She took the blankets and went off to replace them in the armoire in her room.

'It's all right. _I'm_ sorry to have forced you out onto the couch,' he told her when she came back in.

'Erik, we went over this. You needed a bed. Besides, I was quite cosy with the fireplace.' She looked at him, waiting for him to sit down, but he stood before her resolutely.

'Christine, I would like to apologise formally for all I have put you through.' She opened her mouth to protest, but he held his hand up to stop her. 'Please. It was wrong to put so much upon you, and I want you to know that you do not have to worry about doing so again. I did not expect it from you and do not now. You hold no obligation to me, Christine. I do not wish to further hinder your happiness,' he announced. He felt his throat tighten, but pressed through anyway.

Christine stood there, looking at him in what was quickly becoming despairing shock.

'D-do you want me to go?' she asked, concerned she would start crying again.

Erik looked down at her in amazement. The sad defeat she held in her voice at that question made his heart knot. 'Only if you wish to, my dear,' he told her softly. He watched as she fought tears, shaking her head. Before he knew what to do, she was in his arms again. He nearly fell over when her head fit perfectly against his shoulder and her arms flung round his neck. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach, but he steadied her and held tightly.

'I don't want to leave you, Erik,' she murmured into his shoulder. 'I don't want to be alone again.'

'But you're not alone, darling. You have friends who care for you very much,' he told her, once more feeling the purest elation of pressing his marred cheek to her gentle being.

'Then why do I only feel like I belong when I'm with you?'

At this Erik let out a slight whimper and pulled her even closer, burying his face in her hair. He wanted them to blend together and then just disappear forever. He would be happy because she would be with him. It was therefore against his better judgement when he pulled back to look at her.

'What about your boy? Does he not make you feel at home?' He could have shot himself for the words which treacherously escaped his thin lips. This was only enhanced when her gorgeous eyes grew distant. Why could he not take the good thing and leave it at that? Why could he not happily keep her down here with him forever with promises of belonging?

Because he loved her. He loved her and he knew to keep her forever would be to hurt her. It would crush her and make her weak. He would not give that up for anything. He would gladly trade his happiness for her strength. He would watch his beautiful and cruel angel from afar so long as she remained just that. Her sense of self-worth was far more important than his.

'Raoul is…a different kind of comfort. He offers me things I know I should want instead of what I think I want. He is good to me. He is kind and gentle and caring. He would never do anything to hurt me. He just wants to see me smile more,' she told him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Erik told himself that this boy must not be so bad if he wanted these things for her. They were not so different, he and that boy. Still, jealously continued to feed itself. He turned away from her to hide the pain in his eyes.

Christine slowly loosened her hold on Erik and he did not resist.

'I'm sorry,' he heard her mutter.

'No.' He caught her attention, looking deep into her eyes. 'Never be sorry. You have given me far more than I deserve. Never be sorry for wanting something else. _You_ deserve better than I could ever give you.'

She did not shy from his intense gaze. She did not shrink or cry when she realised he was giving her up. He had been giving her up since the moment Raoul had come back into her life. He had been giving her up since the moment she met him. He had known all these years that he would never truly win her. He played the game because he cared about her, but he always knew he would lose.

'So what do we do?' she asked, feeling utterly useless.

Erik looked at her. Exhaustion was slowly taking over and he turned to sit down on the couch. 'What do you want to happen?' He looked at her, noting how she was gazing into the fireplace distantly.

'I want it all to go back to the way it was before I went out with Raoul, but I know that's not possible.' She turned her eyes down to the floor.

Erik thought for a long moment, wanting more than anything to please her. 'Well,' he started, wishing to find some hope for her. 'There's no harm in trying.'

Christine let out a gasp of a sob and nodded, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying. She looked up at the ceiling and tapped her fisted hand on her leg.

'I have work tonight, would you like me to come back here after?' she asked, wondering what his answer would be. 'I'd have to leave tomorrow morning for the bookstore, but if you wanted, I could stay again tonight.'

'Whatever pleases you; I will never turn down your company,' he replied after a bit of thought. Were he a better man, he would insist she go find her boy and run off into the sunset together, but as it stood he was not certain he would be back to health any sooner than Tuesday.

She nodded and wandered back to the kitchen with the excuse of making them tea. He stared into the fire for a while, watching the dancing flames lick up the air and the logs placed in the grate. He remembered placing every stone into this place, knowing it would be his final home. He had built it with the excuse of being a speak-easy like all the rest, but the extra rooms and extensive plumbing had all been designed with a residence in mind. It surprised the commissioner of the building little to find Erik had bought it the moment it was designed. He had stayed on to see it completed without trouble, but he must have known from the initial plans that this bar would be different. Erik tried hard to remember the man's name. He had been kind and did not ask a lot of questions. He liked him for that. The man had looked Middle Eastern and spoke with an accent. Of course so did Erik, but his was decidedly French while this man came from a bit farther east.

Shaking his head, he turned to accept Christine's offered tea cup. He wondered idly what had become of the man who had been so oddly kind and compliant. Given the decade and a half which separated that time from this, he wondered if the man was even still alive. He put the thoughts aside when Christine settled in on the couch. She was just near enough for him to take her hand without reaching too far. He supposed his past mattered little now. He would not be returning to it if he could help it. He wanted only to relish the small joys the future may still hold for him.


	24. Chapter 24

By the time Monday afternoon rolled around, Christine was idly wondering just how many hours she spent at the Majestic a week. She counted them on the walk to work, realising it was more than she wanted to contemplate. She then was curious if hours with Erik counted toward that. But she put it out of her mind when she approached the door to the café.

Meg was bustling happily inside, humming along to a song on the radio while she wiped down a table. She was never put in such difficult situations. Indeed, Christine was a bit envious of this fact. Meg did not have a deformed recluse and a childhood friend falling for her simultaneously. She just had a new man every week.

'Christine!' Meg called to her as if she had not seen her in years. 'You'll never guess who called me and asked me out to dinner tonight.'

'You're right, I probably won't,' Christine said with a smile.

'Tom! Raoul's friend! He was so polite when he took me home Saturday, and now he's offered to take me to a really nice restaurant tonight!' Meg squealed, jumping excitedly.

'Wow! Good for you! I think Raoul is taking me out tonight,' Christine smiled, honestly happy to see Meg starting to settle just a bit. Even if she did not see Tom again, her bothering to mention him showed promise.

'I always told you I loved a man in uniform.' Meg winked before going back to her work. 'So how _are_ things going with Raoul? I know Tom said they were busy this weekend, but it seems you have been seeing him fairly often.'

'Oh, well, it's nice. He's really a great guy.'

'Yeah, uh-huh, _and_?'

'And nothing. I enjoy being around him, that's all.' Christine shrugged defensively.

Meg put her hands on her hips. 'Christine, how do you ever expect to get married if you don't break down the wall of "we're just good friends"? Jump in there! You never know, he may have some ideas for you.' She nudged her as she passed by.

'That's what I'm afraid of,' Christine muttered under her breath. 'Meg, has it ever occurred to you that I might want something more than just marriage and settling down to have a family?'

'Well, what do you want, then?' Meg asked, ignoring the bitter tone Christine had taken.

Christine stopped and stared distantly at the wall. 'I don't know, that's the problem,' she said after a sigh.

'Hey,' Meg came up behind her and put her hand on her shoulder. 'If he's really worth it, he'll help you figure that out.'

Christine looked hard at her friend. 'Thanks, Meg. You know, you're starting to sound like my dad with all of this advice.'

'I'll take that as a compliment,' Meg replied, holding her head high with a smile. 'Oh, I heard the managers are going to start having a few band nights.'

'Yeah, I think it'll be nice. They'll have the floor open for dancing and we can go home earlier.'

'Amen to that! I wouldn't mind a night off.' Meg lifted her cleaning rag in cheer. 'When do they start?'

'Tuesdays and Thursdays, I think. It'll be nice to go out with Raoul and not get home at obscene hours of the morning. It's getting a little tight with my other job,' she explained, thinking already of all the fun they could have.

'Well, you'll only have this week, right? Don't they ship out for a month on Sunday?'

Christine stopped, realising just how quickly the two weeks had passed. 'Yeah, he does,' she said in a bit of a daze.

Meg turned to see Christine's dismal expression. 'Hey, it's not that bad. He'll only be gone for a month.'

'And then he'll stay a week before shipping off for real. He'll go to war,' she pronounced.

'And then he'll come home and carry you off in his arms,' Meg told her.

'Maybe.'

Meg looked at her friend with concern. Christine had always been a bit grim at the best of times, but this was just ridiculous. 'Well, if you want to look on the darker side, then fine, but I like to keep my glasses half full, thank you.'

Christine took a moment before turning back to look at her friend of so many years. 'I'm sorry, Meg. I can't help it. I just worry.'

'Yeah, I know, I know. It's what you're good at. But sheesh, couldn't you at least _try_ and have some hope?'

'I will try for you.' She smiled winningly back over her shoulder. This earned her a grin and an eye roll. In the language of Meg, that meant all was forgiven.

They continued to work, putting things to rights in the café as they always did. They kept their conversations light and Christine was happy in the knowledge that this was how it was supposed to be. She was even smiling truthfully when the customers started shuffling in.

Christine went on and sang, finding comfort in the presence of both her faithful teacher hiding in the walls and Raoul sitting in the audience. She sang with more life than she had felt in quite some time. When she finished, she ducked quickly into the dressing room and walked over to the mirror.

'Erik? How are you feeling?' she asked, looking for any sign that he had made it there fast enough.

'I'm getting better. I'm still eating, sleeping, and drinking water,' came his softly smiling reply from beyond the glass. 'Did you wish to come down for a bit?' He offered it more hopefully than anything else.

'Um, I think Raoul may have plans. It's his last week here for a month, so I'll see what I can do about visiting—'

'It's fine. I'll be all right. You go…enjoy yourself.' He paused, wondering what in the Hell he was doing letting her just slip out of his fingers like that. He watched her nod, still obviously concerned about him.

'All right, if you're sure. You take care now,' she told him, waving to the mirror he had not bothered to open to her. He knew when he had seen that boy in the audience again that their time would no longer be. She would devote herself to her Navy boy and old Erik would be left behind. He knew he should not mind as much as he did, but dammit, he wanted to see her again. To feel her in his arms. He did not stay to watch her go.

Once outside in the quickly warming air, Raoul put his arm around Christine's shoulder, smiling down at her. She did not seem to be bothered by it, which gladdened him even more.

'So, where do you want to go tonight?' he asked her happily.

'I don't know. Why not dinner and a walk in the park?' she proposed, feeling a bit giddy with him.

'Oh, I wanted to tell you, I have something special planned for Saturday evening.' He smiled extra brightly down at her.

'All right. I'll make sure I'm dressed up nicely.' She grinned back.

'Are you kidding? You're always dressed up nice! You're the prettiest girl in all of New York!' He shouted the last to the sky. She giggled a bit timidly as he laughed. 'Well, I figured since I ship out the next morning, I better get in a last hurrah,' he explained, not seeing her smile fade a bit. 'Though I may not be able to pick you up for it. I hate to make you walk,' he said thoughtfully.

Christine laughed at his changeable attitude. 'We'll figure it out before Saturday, I'm sure.'

'Yeah,' he smiled, easily brushing away his worries. 'Come on, let's have some fun tonight!' He pulled her along as he hurried them off into the night.

Tuesday evening hurt more than Erik was expecting. He had become so used to the new routine of coming out to hear Christine, admiring her beauty, then watching his heart walk out the door with the arm of another man round her shoulders. How he loved her.

* * *

Tonight was different, however. Tonight he was not graced with the beautiful tones of his angel, simply forced to watch her from a painful distance and then see her leave early with that boy.

He had thought—how foolish he was—that he would be able to stand seeing her go on like this, knowing she was happy with the boy, but he could not. It hurt him greatly to see her smile so freely around the young man and watch it reflected right back in those blue eyes. He hated the boy with every ounce of his being, but he also knew that if the boy cared even half as much for her as he did, then he was deserving. Hating Raoul would be as good as hating himself.

Seeing her become more open and secure in her evenings with the boy made Erik feel the wretch for entrapping her. He had first brought her out of her shell, but under the glowing smile of the boy, she bloomed. She grew light hearted and carefree. He would give anything to be the cause of her happiness.

Yet, he was offered some reprieve from his suffering when he heard her Wednesday night. She sounded truly like an angel, letting her voice ring up to the heavens. Though the music itself was of a lower quality than she deserved, than her voice should be used for, it could not have sounded better on her.

He listened to her with pleasure in his heart. As he had told her, she made him human. She made his life worth continuing. He looked at her with purest admiration. She made no mistakes, not a single flaw in her silvery tones. He could listen to her forever.

As soon as she finished, he was amazed when she instantly went off the stage and into the door of the dressing room. She was practically glowing by the time he met her on the other side of the mirror.

'Oh, Erik,' she sighed, looking like she could fly off like a bird. 'That was the best night I have had in such a long time!'

'My dear, I assure you, your quality has not dropped once in your performances,' he told her, smiling at her joy, but hiding with minimal skill his disappointment at her happiness of a different source.

'Yes, but I just feel so much better after this one,' she continued, looking a bit distantly at the mirror. She sighed somewhat dreamily, and though he wanted more than anything to take the credit for such a beautiful exhalation, he knew he could not.

'Oh, Erik,' she repeated. 'Thank you so much for all you have done for me. I don't know where I would be without you.' Her eyes were distant, but her words struck home.

'A pleasure as it always has been, my dear. There is no one else on Earth who I would devote my time to so completely,' he told her, pouring his heart into every word.

She ducked her chin a bit, smiling. If he were the kind of person to note such things, he would have clung to the redness which spread in her cheeks, but certainly he would never memorise such a brilliant shade of warm pink. Nor would he notice the way her eyes shimmered in the light like green, blue, and amber stars. But he was not the kind to focus on such things.

A knock at the door shattered the moment. The call from the other side merely sealed the fate.

'Christine? Christine, are you in there?' Raoul called in, only letting a small hint of his worry come into his voice.

'Yes, I'll be out in a moment,' she replied to the closed door, only shouting it over her shoulder. When she turned back to the mirror, she must have somehow been able to see Erik more than he thought, for her brow creased and her shoulders fell. 'Erik,' she started.

'No, you go ahead. Wouldn't want to keep your young man waiting, now would you?' he told her as he slowly started to retreat, his eyes turning cold.

'Erik, wait! I'm sorry it has to be this way! I never wanted—'

'Don't lie, Christine. Dishonesty doesn't become you,' he told her before turning and leaving her. Her calls to him echoed down the hall and rang in his ears all the way down to his home. He resolved himself not to wallow as he had before. Her last visit to him convinced him that he should take better care of himself. Perhaps the distance between them would help.

Christine stood at the mirror, her hands pressed against the cold glass with little effect. She still did not know exactly where the switch was to open the doorway, but something told her Erik did not wish to see her now.

Hanging her head, she walked over to the door where Raoul was once more calling in. He was growing worried of a repeat in circumstances to the first two times he had offered her dinner. She opened the door and walked right into his embrace.

'Christine,' he started off cheerily, but stopped when he felt her melancholy as she leaned her head into his chest. 'Hey, what's wrong?'

Her answer was only to bury her cheek in deeper. She smelled the freshness of his clothes, and the mild cologne he used to ensure he never seemed like the ship. He still had the vaguest scent of salty air, which always made her think of the beach. Erik always smelled of slight earthiness and a deep wood. It was the scent of his home. Though there was not a speck of dirt in the place, being underground still gave it the organic scent. He made her think of an old forest with gentle green light from the leaves. Two worlds, both so far away from the life of the city.

Raoul rubbed her hair and she nuzzled into him, humming in contentment. He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on the crown of her head. 'My little Lotte,' he cooed, reminding her of her favourite childhood story.

Looking up into his eyes, she pleaded with them but not the man inside to tell her why she was so unhappy. She tried to smile and she did feel joy in Raoul's company, but she felt so guilty for not being with Erik that it hurt her deep within. Yet this may be the last chance to spend time with her friend. But hurting the man who had helped her so very much over the past few years was eating at her.

Raoul thumbed away a tear she had not realised escaped. 'Christine, I think it's time you told me what's going on with you.' He looked down at her, gazing deeply into her big eyes.

She shook her head hopelessly. 'I can't.'

'Why not?' he pressed.

'I just can't.' She hung her head, knowing she was not being fair to anyone. She simply did not wish to hurt them.

'Christine, if someone is hurting you, you need to tell me.' He held her a bit tighter, worry etching his face.

'It's not me who's hurt. I'm the one doing the hurting. I'm not being what I should be to you or…' She trailed off, realising how close she was coming to revealing her as yet unknown teacher.

'You're not hurting me. No,' he stopped her when she started to shake her head in denial. 'You're really not.' He looked at her again. 'Listen, if there's someone else, then—'

'No, it's not like that it's…' How was it like? She could not stand to think on that right now.

'Christine, listen to me. We only have a few days left together and then I leave for a month—hate it as I do. All I ask is that you spend this last week with me and when I come back, you can tell me what's what. All right?' He searched her eyes out. 'One month to sort everything out. Sound fair?'

Christine nodded after a pause of contemplation. She drew a shaky breath of relief when she realised she would not have to make her decision until later. She could put it off a little longer before hurting one or the other man. At this point in time she would be just as happy to choose neither and go on her not-so-merry way. She would hate to do it, but she would if pushed. She was just so tired of having it all on her shoulders at once.

Relaxing her head onto his shoulder, she let her troubling thoughts float away for a bit. There was no point in worrying herself now. There was nothing to do but enjoy her last week with Raoul and plan the future later. If she found she loved him, then… But if she loved Erik…

Shaking her head, she realised she needed a way to block out all thoughts. She needed her mind to go blank. She looked up at Raoul as he walked them past the warmly illuminated shop fronts of the street. His few curls at the front were flopping a bit forward towards his forehead and his eyes were shining softly. He looked every bit the white knight from every childhood fantasy book. She simply did not feel much like the damsel in distress. More like the damsel causing distress.

Taking his cheek in her hand, he stopped walking to look at her in happy surprise. He opened his mouth, most likely to ask her what was wrong, if anything, when she pressed her lips to his. His shock faded quickly as she deepened the kiss.

She thought she had heard somewhere that kissing made all of your thoughts go away. For a brief moment, it did. Her mind drifted in a black sea of nothingness, until two mournful golden eyes pierced through the darkness.

Pulling back, but keeping it slow enough so as not to distress Raoul, she closed her eyes harder and drove her face into his sleeve. She wanted to squeeze out the memory of those poor eyes and their saddened owner. She heard his voice filter through her mind. _'I saw…kiss.'_ She shut out her tears at how pathetic he had sounded. How broken and wounded. She had done that to him. She had hurt him beyond measure and she was doing it again. But Raoul deserved better than some half-hearted excuse about a demanding music teacher. He deserved his friend from their childhood. He deserved the Christine he had known so well back then. In all honesty, she wished she could be that person again. She wanted to go back to when she could smile without regret or pain hidden deep within. She wanted to sing and be free and love any and all who came her way. She wanted the security the past held; what Raoul's embrace held. He lived in perpetual limbo for her. He was stepping toward the future with great resolve, but he reminded her so much of the fun they had as children. He was her safety blanket to hide in when the world seemed too scary. He promised her everything a girl should want. He gave her ambitions and told her of no others. He made her life a clear and straight path. No side tracks, no distractions, nothing but what the world held for every average person.

Snuggling into his embrace, not listening to the soothing promises he cooed over her head, she determined to wrap herself in this normalcy for a while. She did not have to think about anything. Just live, love, and be happy with that she was given. It could work. Just shut down and enjoy where he took her. He was fun and kind and gentle. He would not hurt her and his choices were not so terrible as to worry her. He was what any girl in her right mind should want. Maybe he could be the one to finally allow her life to make sense.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: For those of you in America, or feel that they should celebrate it, I hope you have a safe and happy 4** **th** **of July! Don't blow up anything that should not be blown up.**

New York, May 6, 1943

Thursday, Raoul took her out in the evening to enjoy all of the bright lights of the city. He brought with him a small picnic basket and they ate in their favourite corner of Central Park before lying lazily on the blanket he had packed. He felt all of the stress of what was coming up float away as she rested her head on his shoulder, his arm awkwardly pinned under her. He would not shift her, though. Not when she looked so happy gazing up at the starlit sky. There was almost too much light pollution from the city to see, but they managed out a few constellations.

'Christine?' he asked after a moment of enjoying the peace of the evening.

'Hmm?' she hummed, nuzzling a bit into his sideways embrace.

'What do you want to do once the war is over?'

Christine paused, thinking it over. 'I-I don't know,' she admitted, feeling she sounded childish.

'I mean, when all the men are brought home and the world stops being so crazy, will you stay in New York? Do you want to go somewhere else?' he pressed, clearly envisioning his own future more than hers. He was asking out of mild curiosity and politeness.

'I'm not sure. I've never really had the luxury of picking my own life. It seems like every time I am about to do something I want, the world changes my mind for me,' she told him, remembering the last time she had tried to decide her own fate and having the war erupt. Before that, her father had gotten sick, preventing her from attending any sort of school for her singing, and before that, they had been too poor to afford anything more than food each night. The world had not been kind, and yet here she lay, her head resting on the shoulder of her childhood friend and a singing job awaiting her the following night. For once, the world looked like it was a happier place for her, but she had been burned before.

'What about you?' she asked, determined to turn the conversation away from thoughts such as those. 'What do you want to do once the war is over?'

Raoul thought a moment, trying to seem as though he had not been already. 'Well, I guess I'll need to get a job. My brother seems partial to my joining him in the family business. I have a pretty good inheritance, but I need to work to be useful. Beyond that, I don't know, settle down, and raise a family. Same as everyone else.'

Christine nodded. She had assumed as much long ago. Raoul was the path to the average life. He was the straight road with a set light at the end and no worries for distractions along the way. She could see it now, pastel house, her in the kitchen trying and failing to cook a worthy meal as two children ran about her ankles and a suited Raoul kissed her temple from his long day at work. She would be normal. She would have worries about the neighbour's new car, the mortgage, the childrens' grades, how old she might be looking and how much weight she had gained, and all of the trivialities of normal life. It was expected of her. She knew that she should want it.

'If life didn't get in the way, what would you like to do?' he asked, bringing her back to herself a bit.

She sighed, watching the twinkling stars in the sky, hearing the hum and drone of the city surrounding her. 'I want a life and I want sunlight in it. Real sunlight. Light that only comes from happiness. You know how memories are kind of tinted golden? I want that. I want to feel like I can be anything I want but have someone there who stays my sturdy rock. I want something to come back to.'

'You want a home,' he answered sagely. He felt her nod against his shoulder. He looked over at her to see a tear slide down her cheek.

'Christine,' he cooed, wiping the salty trail from her soft skin. 'Christine, you can have a home wherever you want. There's nothing you cannot do. If you wanted to perform on Broadway, then they would be fools not to take you. If you wanted to travel the world—once all of the fighting's done, of course—then I would be right there beside you the whole way. You could fly anywhere and I would find a home for you. We could have a house outside of the city so you could have a break from all the noise.'

This only made her cry harder. That was not what she wanted. She did not wish for a home with some yellow-green grassed lawn. She wanted warmth in an embrace and assurance in a companion by her side through life. In short, she realised, she did not want a home in a house. She wanted a home in the form of a person. She wanted a home in love.

Raoul held her closer as she turned into his shoulder, clinging to him tightly. He worried for her. It seemed as of late she had become more and more emotional. He could only assume it was because he would be shipping off on Sunday. He would miss her, but he had a plan in place. He would lay it all out Saturday over dinner at his apartment. This coming month would be the longest of his life.

She heard him whisper soothing words into her ear, but she simply could not stop thinking of what the future might bring.

They laid like that for a good while, he comforting her and reminiscing over their time as children, and she trying not to sort her life out but knowing she could not avoid it much longer.

When they finally packed up, Raoul walked her home, keeping an arm round her shoulders as she still looked a bit despondent. He stopped suddenly on their trip, ducking into a quiet shop for a moment and leaving her in the light outside.

He came back to her puzzled expression with an impish grin on his face. He held out an ice cream cone to her proudly.

Christine nearly started crying at this random act of kindness. She laughed and hugged him for his thoughtfulness and stood on tip toe to kiss his cheek.

'Better eat it before it melts,' he told her, pecking her cheek as well.

They sat on a bench, he eating his own cone while trying not to laugh at how horribly he was doing at keeping it from being messy. Christine had not laughed harder than when she saw Raoul resort to licking his fingers to get the sticky melted ice cream from them. He got his own mirthful moment in when she got a dab on her nose. He brushed it off for her with his already slightly sticky fingers. She spurted out laughter as he debated a moment before just licking his finger clean. He smiled at her with the abandon of a child. He grinned with a pleasant lop-sidedness that was oddly adorable. He looked so carefree in that moment.

He watched her eyes soften the more she looked into his smile. Were it not for the drop of ice cream escaping the cone and rushing for her fingers, he would have kissed her right then. He warned her with a bit too much enthusiasm, making her laugh even more.

They finished their treat with a few more moments of random humour before Raoul begged the shop owner to let him wash his hands. Grudgingly consenting, the owner watched Raoul like a hawk, which made Christine really fight to hold in laughter. What was he afraid Raoul would do? Steal the soap?

Finally heading back out into the night, Raoul continued to escort her home.

'Thank you for the ice cream, Raoul. I don't remember the last time I had that.' She smiled up at him honestly.

'Aw, it was nothing. I was just happy to see you smiling again.' He nudged her gently. She ducked her head in mild embarrassment at this as they went on their way.

Stopping outside of her building, she turned to see him in the lighting over the door. His eyes looked oddly dark in the limited light and his strong jaw and cheekbones were well accented by the cast shadows. Were it not for the blonde curls which stubbornly hung over his forehead like a child's he would look like a knight in shining armour.

'Will I see you tomorrow night?' she asked, eyeing him mischievously as though his answer would be anything less than a definite yes.

'Why, Ms. Daaé, what do you think I do but wait for our time together?' He raised his hand to his heart in mock injury. He beamed at her giggling from his theatrics.

'You had better not give me reason to think you do anything else.' She smirked up at him.

'You wound me, madam.' He held his head high, but relaxed it when she brought his face down and planted a solid kiss on his lips. He returned it smoothly, winding his arms round her waist and pulling her in a bit, closing the distance between them. She felt a warning bell go off in her head as she allowed the kiss to deepen, but ignored it. She wanted this right now because she may not have it again…ever. It felt right. It was what she should want. It was normal and good.

She moaned into his mouth as her lips finally parted. He took it gently, knowing how quick she was to end such moments. He wound his fingers through her curls as she practically massaged the back of his neck. He was loath to part, but a mutual need for oxygen urged him to separate. Placing his forehead on hers, they both breathed deeply, trying to catch their breaths.

Christine pulled back first only to dive into a hug. She enjoyed the way Raoul's arms wrapped round her narrow frame. It was not the same as…no, she had determined not think about _him_ tonight. This would be for herself and Raoul only.

Stealing a glance up at her blonde guardian, she knew that the sensible thing would be to run away with him forever. To take what she could get and leave all of the complicated life out of the way. She could live happily, or at least contentedly in his world of perfect answers and average being. She could be normal with her friend. She cared about him and was grateful for his straightforward path. She could let him lead and happily follow along by his side.

'I'll see you tomorrow, then,' she told him with a smile plastered on her face. She would try. For him, she would try. She decided then and there that she would not hold herself back from it. It was the obvious choice. It was a good choice…she hoped.

'Goodnight, Little Lotte.' He kissed the top of her head before watching her enter the building. He wanted to see her just a bit longer, as well as to ensure she got in safely. He worried about her some nights.

Turning, he walked back down the street to his own apartment with wonderings about what tomorrow would bring for them, as well as all of the magic of that night.

* * *

Christine finished her song before practically leaping from the back of the stage. Raoul had signalled her with some urgency as she was taking her bows. She was not surprised to find him leaning in the doorway at the end of the hall.

'Come on, or we'll be late,' he called eagerly.

He rushed them out of the café before Christine could even consider visiting Erik. He would have to wait until tomorrow night, she supposed. Of course, she had Raoul's special dinner plans to be ready for.

Hurrying at his side, she tried her best to keep up with him, but it was hard with their considerable leg length differences. Still, she managed to catch up and actually bump into him when he stopped suddenly.

She apologised when he turned to smile down at her. She looked around a bit, somewhat in a daze on the trip over.

The lights of the cinema building flashed at her, but Raoul had positioned his hands over the marquee to hide what picture was showing. She had just enough time to gape and smile before he was excitedly pulling her up to the front doors, ignoring her questioning about tickets.

'I got them earlier today. This is the latest showing, so I wanted to make sure we got here on time,' he explained, as they stood in the two person line for popcorn. He was grinning like an idiot and she could only smile gently in return.

Making their way through the surprisingly open theatre, they sat in the middle of the row. Christine looked around, puzzled.

'Are we really early?' she asked, noting the few people spaced out generously.

'No, it's just been showing for a while. The gal at the ticket counter told me tonight was probably the last night for it. We're lucky, I guess.' He nudged her eagerly. 'I had to pay a little extra for the ticket, so I guess we wouldn't have had a film otherwise.'

'Thank you, Raoul. I haven't seen a movie in ages. I think the last one I went to had Charlie Chaplin in it,' she said, remembering the sound of the piano playing in the small, smoky room. She had snuck in the back, not having a ticket. She had almost been caught, but a nice man had vouched for her. He had later told her she looked like she needed a laugh. He had shared his popcorn with her and she had thanked him at least a hundred times. Her father had been cross she had wandered off and spoken to a stranger, but he had quickly melted when she told him about the film and how happy it had made her. Thinking on it now, she realised her father had been happy she had a good time. He had so little money to give her anything that when she did find a way to enjoy herself, he could not begrudge her for it.

Looking back to the screen in front of her, she saw the proud opening credits and the grand music begin.

 _Presenting Lily Mars Starring Judy Garland and Van Heflin, Directed by Norman Taurog._

Christine looked at Raoul in amazement as the credits continued on. She had heard Miss Garland sing on the radio and seen her picture in the paper and dime-store magazines, but never had the pleasure of watching her perform. This was a real treat. She never would have thought to come on her own, let alone be able to afford it.

Just before the picture started, Raoul got one big kiss on the lips and a whispered thank you in his ear. She smiled as the film began, enjoying every moment of it.

* * *

'So,' Raoul started as they walked out of the cinema. 'What'd you think?' He smirked at her, noting the beaming grin which had stayed on her face almost the whole picture.

'It-it was wonderful!' She cried, bouncing up and down as she held his hand. 'Oh, I have never seen something so beautiful in all my life!'

She had known Miss Garland to be talented, but never quite as much as seeing her proved. And gorgeous. Oh, the woman was lovely. She had a voice bigger than she was, but she carried herself to dispel the look of a teenager singing like a grown woman. Her hair was perfect, her eyes so dark and expressive, all of it was perfect.

'Then I take it my choice in date was a good one.' He grinned at her.

'Oh, yes! Thank you, Raoul!' She latched onto him, stopping his walk with a powerful kiss. It was a bit more intimate than the one she had blown him away with in the theatre, but not as passionate as the one the previous night. He did not complain, however. He was perfectly happy to catalogue all of her kisses based on her moods and enjoy each and every one of them.

Putting his arms round her much like he had the night before, he bent in a little further, almost dipping her. She relaxed into him, smiling and closing her eyes dreamily.

The honk of a passing car brought her out of it, though. She blushed profusely as she remembered where she was. Kissing in plain sight on the sidewalk. If she had a strict mother, she would surely be having a cow now. As it stood, she wondered what her parents up in Heaven thought of her outlandish behaviour. Certainly Erik would disapprove.

That last thought alone set her mind on more proper thoughts.

'I'll have to remember to take you to the movies again when I get back. Oh, about tomorrow night,' he changed subjects quickly, digging in his pocket for something. Finally he found it in a piece of slightly crumpled paper. 'Here's my address and a couple directions on how to get there for tomorrow night. Nothing too fancy unless you want it to be.' He winked at her as she took the paper.

'I should finish work around ten,' she told him, wondering if she could convince the band to play a little extra to let her off early.

'That will be fine. I'm sorry I won't be able to be there to hear you, but I've got something really special planned for dinner,' he explained, rubbing the back of his head.

'It's all right. I understand. Let's see,' she muttered, looking at the paper. 'I should be able to walk there without too much trouble. I will see you around 10:15 or so?' she offered. She was only slightly surprised to find they were now outside her apartment building again.

'Sounds like a date.' He winked, giving her a chaste kiss on the lips before adding a slightly deeper one and then walking off with a wave. He turned back a few times to watch her go into her building, always careful of these dark streets. He hated to make her walk all the way to his apartment, but she would never accept his money to pay for a cab, and it was not that far a distance anyway. She would be fine.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Here we are! This one and the next are quite possibly my favourite chapters of the entire phic! I love them still. I won't reveal too much, though, so enjoy!**

Saturday morning came and went as Christine happily spent her free time with Meg picking out a dress for her date that evening. Something told her this one would be especially important for her to look her best and oh, did she want to. Normally she did not put in the effort, but tonight held the promise of importance.

After an few hours of trying on dresses, laughing over silly prints, and overall enjoyment of each other's company, Christine found a dress which would suit her more romantic mind set.

'Ooh, Christine, I didn't know you had it in you!' Meg whistled, looking her friend up and down, noting the blush which inevitably reddened the brunette's cheeks.

It was a bit more modern and showy than she generally liked, but it fit and it was not too overly expensive. It was a ruby red with short cap sleeves on a close neckline accented with fabric roses. Christine looked herself over in the changing room mirror one last time, wondering if it was too risqué and if Raoul would take offence, but some little voice in the back of her head urged her to buy it anyway. If he did not like it, then she would give it to Meg, but she liked it. It made her feel more confident and secure, even if the skirt barely cleared her knees.

Meg offered to do her hair for her, but she decided to leave it down with only a simple comb tying it away from the right side of her face. She had no jewellery in her possession, having sold most of it to get money to buy the boat ticket to America. She would make do with her own simplicity.

Walking to the café with Meg was fun and the perky blonde in her soft blue V-necked dress gossiped and giggled all the way to work.

'Now, you have to let me do most of the cleaning tonight. I will _not_ have you ruining your nails or new dress,' she insisted, noting the red nail varnish she had forced Christine to allow her to put on. 'This is the last night with your man for a whole month, and I won't let you ruin it by tempting fate,' she continued, walking through the front door.

Christine rolled her eyes. Meg was more excited about this date than she was. At least, outwardly. Inwardly, Christine was a bundle of ecstatic nerves. She had never been on a real date before Raoul and he had talked of this particular evening so highly, she had come to expect the moon and the stars. She would never ask for such things, of course, but Raoul had made it sound like it was a given.

She went about her work as normally as Meg would allow her to. She swept the floors, trying to keep the dirt from her shining black shoes—a point of argument earlier in the day as Christine claimed her red ones would be too much, much to Meg's chagrin. She nearly laughed at herself for being so prissy and vain. She had never cared so much before. She told herself that she did not wish to disappoint Raoul by coming in such a lovely dress, but having the shoes of a maid.

She pondered this change in thought for a while. She had never been as worried over her appearance as she was when she was with Raoul. She was trying to impress him, but should she not be trying to feel pretty for herself? She supposed, smiling as the mirror over the back of the bar reflected her, that she was doing it for herself and for him. He made her feel like she was worth the trouble. She was fairly comfortable, but this was far from something she would do daily. One time dates with fancy expectations were fine for her. She certainly would not wear this for just any occasion as Meg would. Of course, glancing at her blonde friend, Meg looked gorgeous every day; she was the kind of girl who cared about such things. Meg honestly enjoyed it. Coming from nothing, she liked to make herself into something. That was fair, right? Then again, Christine had come from even less. Perhaps that was why she expected so little. She was more realistic.

Shaking her head, she huffed a laugh. Listen to her, she was starting to have thoughts like a normal woman.

'Christine, it's almost time for customers, do you want to go warm up?' Meg called as the lights outside began to grow purple and soft.

'Sure, if you think you can handle things up here,' Christine replied, heading off to the back.

'You know I can.' Meg saluted her with a sway of her hips and a wink. Christine rolled her eyes, laughing.

Christine glanced at the dressing room door she had come to consider as hers. She wondered if Erik was busy or would hear her. Thinking on the last time they had spoken, she bit her lip. She really needed to talk to him and settle things. He had been so distraught it had hurt her.

Deciding to do it later before she performed, she figured he would be more likely to be there. He told her he always listened to her sing. She stepped up onto the stage, sitting at the piano bench and playing through a few warm ups on her own. She felt more comfortable up there now. It was less frightening to have the lights on her and the eyes of the audience watching her every move.

Her voice felt good tonight and she pushed a little farther in her range, listening with a smile as it rang through the building. She had found it fun to work with Erik on her voice. He had taught her how to let it echo like an opera singer. She could make her tiny dressing room radiate with it along with the building outside.

Playing over the keys, she meddled with a more sombre song. She missed her nightly lessons. She missed the simplicity of her life before it all came crashing down at once. Had Raoul not come she would most likely still be singing to the disembodied voice of her _Angel_. He probably would have eventually. Would she have been happier if he had not? She doubted it. She liked having him there and being real. She liked talking to him and making him smile. She liked the way he would look at her as though she were the most treasured thing on the Earth because to him, she was. She knew that was selfish, but she liked being wanted. Being needed.

'Jeez, Christine, getting a little low there?' Meg called up to her, jarring her from her thoughts.

'Sorry, just thinking,' Christine muttered in embarrassment.

'Not about your date tonight, I hope.' Meg came over to the edge of the stage.

'No, just about…a friend,' Christine dodged.

'Ooh, playing the field?' Meg raised her eyebrows cheekily and leaned her elbows on the stage. Christine gave her a withering look.

'No. You know I'm not that kind of girl.'

'No, but you are fun to mess with.' Meg giggled, noting Christine's darkened expression which quickly turned into a shake of the head and a sigh. 'So, what's got you so down?'

'I just…I miss…' Christine looked off into the distance, hoping the words would come better than this. Sighing again, she turned on the bench to her friend. 'Have you ever had something so good, you didn't want it to end? But then, things change and you wish they could go back, but at the same time you don't?'

Meg looked at her blankly for a moment. 'Well, that's not cryptic _at all_ ,' she said, deadpan sarcasm.

'I know, I'm sorry. Forget I mentioned it.' She turned away.

'Oh no! You are not getting out of this one. This is the first time you've opened up in years and I am not about to miss my chance,' Meg told her, perking up and getting an authoritative tone to her voice distinctly like her mother's. 'You listen here, missy, you have to realise your problem. You are too realistic to the point of almost being cynical. You never let yourself have any fun. If it weren't for Raoul, I think you would have resigned yourself to spinsterhood already.'

Christine laughed dryly, realising her friend was probably right.

'Now, I'm going to assume this friend of yours is of the male gender?' Christine nodded. 'Good! It's about time something interesting happened in your love life.'

'It's hardly my love life if I'm not in love,' Christine pointed out.

'Not yet.' Meg put in with a devious look. 'Now, is this "friend" more attached to you than you are to him?'

Christine looked at her friend a moment longer than she meant to. 'Yes.' She murmured it out, somehow losing her voice at the admission.

Meg let her eyebrows twitch slightly at the pause. She wondered for a brief moment if Christine even knew she was lying. Passing it off and filing it away in her memory, she hid her perceptive discovery. 'Then why don't you tell him so?'

Christine decided to pointedly ignore the fact that she had not actually told him so in as many words. She had allowed his self-doubt to do it for her, but her not arguing this was enough, right? This only made her feel worse. She noticed Meg's slight change in expression at noticing her continued pause and looked away. No, she thought, I do _not_ want to delve into this right now. I just want to go on my date with Raoul and let it all sort itself out.

Meg remained silent, feeling her happiness over Christine's upcoming date melt away into pitying worry. If Christine felt this strongly about her "friend", then why did she not tell him? Why did she not call it off with Raoul?

'Listen,' she said, breaking the icy silence. 'I won't tell you your heart, but if you really don't love the guy or at least care about him the way he does you, then telling him will be the best thing to do. Dragging him on will only hurt more.'

Christine closed her eyes, grateful that the tear which escaped was on the side hidden from Meg's view. She could do nothing about her clenched fists, but thankfully the chime of the door broke the moment. Wiping away her tear, she ducked behind the stage as more customers came in and busied Meg.

She had known what the answer was, but it hurt too much. She was a coward.

* * *

 _I thought I found the man of my dreams_

 _Now it seems_

 _This is how the story ends,_

 _He's gonna turn me down_

 _And say "Can't we be friends?"_

 _I thought for once it couldn't go wrong,_

 _Not for long._

 _I can see the way this ends,_

 _He's gonna turn me down_

 _And say "Can't we be friends?"_

 _Never again_

 _Through with love,_

 _Through with men_

 _They play their games without shame,_

 _And who's to blame?_

 _I thought I found a man I could trust_

 _What a bust!_

 _This is how the story ends,_

 _He's gonna turn me down_

 _And say "Can't we be friends?"_

 _Why should I care,_

 _Though he gave me the air?_

 _And why should I cry,_

 _Even sigh,_

 _Or wonder why?_

 _I thought for once it couldn't go wrong,_

 _Not for long!_

 _I can see the way this ends,_

 _He's gonna turn me down_

 _And say "Can't we be friends?"_

Christine finished on the high of the song, her heart hammering in her chest and the applause of the audience in her ears. She had worried when the band proposed this particular piece, given her current situation, but as she looked out into the dimly lit room at the smiling faces, she no longer doubted. She had needed to sing that tonight.

Walking down the hall, she set her mind to going straight to see Raoul. It was already 10:10 and she did not want to be too late. Just as she came into the main room, Meg called over to her.

'Do you want me to walk with you tonight? I hate to see you go out alone.'

'No, it's all right. Besides, you and your mom are both busy,' she replied, noting the still packed room.

'You sure?'

'Definitely!' Christine smiled winningly at her friend before ducking out the door.

She breathed in a deep lung full of air and set off determinedly down the dark street. She dug in her small purse, trying to find the piece of paper with Raoul's address on it. She knew she had put it in there somewhere, but like all purses, it had a knack for swallowing her important possessions. The black lining did not help any in the dark. She continued walking, knowing that it was at least past her apartment in the opposite direction of the Majestic. She kept on going, still digging in her purse, only mildly aware of her surroundings.

Finally retrieving the paper slip with a triumphant, 'Ah-ha!', she squinted in the low light and passing car headlights to try to read it. She wondered if when she got her nose to touch it she would see it any better. She needed to stop and find a steady light. She looked up to see she was already past her apartment a couple blocks. She worried she may have missed a turn when suddenly something grabbed her and pulled her backwards.

She tried to scream, but the hand that clamped over her mouth was nearly cutting off her air entirely. The one which wound round her waist painfully tugged her harder as she fought through the shock to resist. She felt her mind spin painfully as her back was thrust against a brick wall. She closed her eyes to the pain, only vaguely aware the arm that had been round her waist was now resting something pointy against her chest, frighteningly near her throat.

'A pretty little thing like you shouldn't walk these mean old streets alone,' came a slithering voice. She opened her eyes, but found she was in complete darkness. She must have been dragged back into an alley. Her fingers clung to the brick behind her, but she wondered if perhaps moving fast enough would allow her in a hit. The tip of the knife, as her addled brain quickly reasoned, was pointed a bit too dangerously at her to make this thought wise.

'Now, what'ya say to a bit of fun tonight, ay? Seems a shame to waste a dame like you when you're all dolled up.' He sneered, letting her catch too much of a whiff of his liquor stained breath. She could not make out any of his features in this light that would help her.

He eyed her up and down venomously, taking in her subtle curves with wicked hunger. He put the knife away, perhaps against his better judgement, and used his now free hand to roam her tantalisingly dressed form. She clenched her teeth as his hand pulled up the edge of her skirt, his rough fingers touching her thigh. Something in her drew strength as his other hand moved to her breasts.

Seeing her new opportunity, she took it greedily. Swiping across his face with her nails, she flung him away and made a mad dash to the sidewalk. Her mind was in a blur, her head throbbed, and her knees felt weak, but she could not stop.

She heard the man screaming obscenities after her before she felt an even harder grip form on her from behind. She knew she had only a bare moment before he silenced her. This would be her only chance to cry for help.

'ERIK!'

No sooner had the name left her lips than she was thrown backwards, hard onto the unforgiving ground. She cried out a bit in pain, but had no time to assess if anything was damaged as her captor loomed over her. His feet were placed between her legs, spreading them as wide as the skirt would allow.

'You're going to regret screamin' like that,' he hissed.

Christine closed her eyes, turning away, feeling the wracking shakes of fear attack her. Then, from out of the darkness, slipped the most silken voice she had ever heard in her life.

' _No,_ you _are._ '

Before she knew what was happening, she heard the sounds of a fight, blows being landed and mild grunts of pain escaping. She could not open her eyes, however. She kept her head down, covering it with her hands protectively until she heard a sickening snap and all went quiet except for the sound of heavy breathing.

She was terrified to look up, too worried who remained standing. Still, she battled against her fear and peeked up at the lone figure standing a little ways away from her. She knew by the height it was not her attacker, but there was an odd glow to the generally soft eyes as he stared at a nondescript lump laying on the ground a little ways away.

'Erik?' she asked, just above a murmur. His eyes flashed to her, their piercing light sharp. It seemed as though he suddenly saw her as they instantly softened. His previously strong and tall bearing hunched slightly. He seemed to be shrinking.

'A-are you hurt?' she asked, sitting up a bit, thankful that her body did not scream out against the motion.

His eyes widened at this before closing a bit to suggest pained laughter. 'Oh, Christine,' he whispered, letting her name hang beautifully in the air.

Something in this and the way he was starting to crouch down reminded her of herself. Her throat instantly tightened as she let out a dry sob before flinging herself into his arms. The second her head hit the curve of his shoulder and neck, her crying took control. She had not realised she had been holding them in until she felt his arms wrap delicately round her while still pulling her in. She fisted her hands in his black jacket possessively, driving her face as far into him as she could while gasping through her tears.

'Shhh, I've got you,' he cooed, bringing a hand up tentatively to stroke her hair. He had not thought she would react so openly towards him, but the way she wept and pressed herself to him did not give him room to doubt himself. He held her more boldly now, hoping to give her comfort. This only solicited an especially loud wail and she clung to him even harder. He felt tears spring to his eyes at this, daring to nuzzle into her a bit. She tucked her legs in closer to him as he held her. He let out a strained breath when she took in a shuddering sob. 'I'm here, Christine. I'm here,' he assured, letting his chin brush dangerously close to a bit of her exposed neck. He would not dare.

'I was so scared,' she said into a sob, making it blend together a bit.

'I know. I know. It's all right now. I'm here. You have nothing to be afraid of,' he told her, rocking back and forth a bit. 'It's all right.'

She gasped a few breaths, calming to more rationalised sobbing. She was no longer wailing, but her grip did not loosen from his jacket and she remained resolutely tucked into his arms. He noticed her relaxing a bit and determined it best to get out of the dingy alleyway.

'Christine,' he murmured in her ear softly. 'Would you like me to take you home?' he asked, already shifting to pick her up. She nodded against him quickly. 'All right. We'll go to your apartment. It's closer,' he explained, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.

Standing up was a bit of an ordeal, but he managed without too much jostling. He walked resolutely down the street to her apartment building. She stayed burrowed in his embrace, which suited him fine, though it made him wonder for the structural integrity of his knees. Every breath she released onto his skin felt cool against the tears she had dripped there, but quickly warmed. It was the most heavenly sensation, beaten only by the tickle of her eyelashes on the edge of his jaw. She kept her eyes closed, but each step bumped them slightly. He knew she must surely hear the roaring thuds of his heart, but he did not care.

He walked up to the front door of her building and somehow managed to open the door without much trouble despite not having empty arms. He took them up the stairs when she muttered her room number. He knew it anyway, but he humoured her into thinking she needed to lead him. He had firmly memorised her records at the Majestic by now.

He stopped outside her door and paused.

'Christine, my darling. I need the key,' he told her, happily burying his face in her hair to whisper it in her ear.

She poked her head up slowly, realising for the first time that her purse had somehow stayed on her arm. Digging into it, she pulled out her keys, opening the door with minimal difficulty while still in Erik's arms. The handle was a bit farther down due to his height, but she still opened it for them. She heard a soft thanks from Erik as he stepped in.

She returned to her embrace, though this time a little farther away from the now soaked section of his jacket. She felt sorry for ruining it, but she did not have much energy to think fully on it.

He wandered through the apartment, guessing the layout. He went through the meagrely furnished living room, past the table in the kitchen, and on into her bedroom. Thankfully, the door was still open for him to take her right in. He considered making her take a bath and then eat, but one glance at her drooping eyes told him that would not be within the realm of possibility tonight. She was still shivering from her sudden rushes of adrenaline. She needed to calm down and stay warm.

Placing her a little high on the bed, he moved the hand which had held her legs to pull the covers back. Picking her up again, he positioned her better, slipping off her shoes. Just as he was about to lay her back and tuck her in, she clung tighter with a whimper.

'Please don't go!' she begged, driving herself further into him again. 'Please don't leave me!'

He could hear the tears starting again in her voice. 'Shhh, it's all right. I'll stay,' he assured, trying to comfort her and gently pry her off. He must be insane, he mused. Here she was, clinging to him like a life line, and he was trying to get her off. Taking a slightly firmer, more certain tone in his voice, he looked her in the eye, pulling her back a bit to do so. 'Christine, I will stay.'

She searched his eyes before gently nodding and letting his neck go. He was happy she had done this, but now came the great question. Would she let him just sit beside her bed or…

His question was partially answered for him as he moved round to the other side of the bed to retrieve a chair. As soon as he came close enough, she held out her arms to him. She wanted him to… _oh_ , he thought, _be still, my heart_.

Resigning himself to being on top of the covers, he slipped off his shoes, jacket, and vest, loosening his tie and daring to unbutton the top of his shirt. Climbing in beside her and swallowing the butterflies that rose from his stomach, he focused on her quivering lower lip. She needed him. The events of tonight had reduced her to a pleading child and he could not find the heart to blame her.

Shuffling awkwardly in next to her, he leaned back, his head just missing the head board. Almost as soon as he was settled, her arm came across his chest and held him tightly as she laid on his torso, her chest pressed against his. He gasped slightly at the sheer divinity of such a sensation. She had the side of her face nuzzled into him, her shoulders tense as though she were fending off the cold of a storm for him. She gasped in a breath as the sobs continued to threaten.

He finally managed to regain some of his senses at last and rubbed her back and smoothed her hair some. He heard her whimper slightly, only this one sounded more like words. He hummed questioningly, concerned it was important.

'Please don't leave me,' she begged again.

'I won't, darling. Erik is staying right here with you,' he assured once more.

He did indeed stay like that, noting how slowly her shoulders relaxed and the tiniest motions of her head to snuggle deeper into his calming embrace. He was her security and safety. She clung to him like no other.

At some point in the night, when he was absolutely certain she was in a deep sleep, he tried to prise himself away. He felt the immorality of the situation and wished to avoid her embarrassment the following morning. As soon as he shifted, however, he was surprised to find her grip tightening and her breath becoming more rapid. Her eyes were closed tightly and she moaned a bit, looking like she were about to cry, despite her unconscious state. Erik quickly stilled and started soothing her again. She eventually calmed and muttered in her dream hazed voice, 'Please, don't go.'

Erik could have cried.

He remained still, only moving to comfort her. How dare someone turn his beautiful angel into this?! How dare that slime place his disgusting hands upon her?! He had hurt her beyond understanding. Once strong and confident, she was now a snivelling girl, clinging to her once angel. Not that he minded the clinging. But it was not right for her to do so out of fear. How long had he wished that upon seeing him she would launch into his arms? How many nights had he lain awake praying to have one like this? And now he had it, but not by her choice. She was hurt and he was her rock to cling to in the storm of her distress. He had been beyond shocked that when she had the option of calling out, his was the first name that came to her gorgeous lips. He had followed her home to make sure she was safe as he had seen how well dressed she was tonight. She would be easy prey for anyone of less than chivalrous intent. He had been appalled that her boy was not there at the café to watch over her instead. He had known better than to follow her when in the company of the boy as the last time had been a serious mistake. He had been a bit behind and was battling wanting to turn back. He had completely lost sight of her when he heard her call. His vision had gone blank and he had rushed in without a second thought. He would defend her until his last breath. He had seen red the moment he came upon the scene. Something in him from the war, long ago thought mended, had snapped. God help the fool who made his Christine cry.

He watched her sleep in the darkness. He was perfectly comfortable if she was. She looked like an angel. Her curls were splayed out across his shirt and her fingers were happily entwined in the fabric at his side. She was getting little spots of lipstick on the white cotton, but he did not care in the slightest. She was here, sleeping on him, perfectly content to have him next to her.

Daring to reach out, he brushed one curling lock out of her face, seeing her ivory skin and feeling the warmth of her body continue to radiate through the bed clothes and into him. He was in Heaven, he was sure.

 **A/N:** ** _Can't We Be Friends_** **, 1929. Music by Kay Swift, Lyrics by Paul James for** ** _The Little Show_** **.**


	27. Chapter 27

Christine awoke the next morning feeling the covers beside her. She felt confused as to why they were bare. She padded her hand about a bit, but still felt nothing but the quickly fading warmth of a body which no longer lay there. Lifting her head tiredly, she stared blearily at the only slightly crumpled bedding.

Looking at this in confusion, she slowly started to remember flashes of her previous night. She had been walking down the street when she was attacked. Blocking this little bit out of her mind, she vaguely remembered crying heavily, but not walking home. She had been carried. By Erik.

She sat up suddenly in bed, her face flushed and feeling slightly dizzy. She felt a sore spot on the back of her head, recalling how it had hit the brick wall in the alley. She had the beginnings of a few bruises forming on her arms, hip, and legs from when she had been pushed to the ground.

Hearing the sounds of someone moving about in her kitchen, she snuck to the doorway, peeking through the slight opening to see Erik, rummaging through cupboards, presumably trying to find something for breakfast. She was about to go help him when she realised her state of dress. She felt slightly dirty and her hair was a complete mess of tangles. Thinking again on helping, she ducked instead into her bathroom to take a quick shower.

She enjoyed the hot water and tried not to spend too much time in the pleasant odour of her soaps. Scrubbing her hair thoroughly, she finished up and faced the door to her bathroom with a pale stare. She had forgotten to bring clean clothes in and had already started soaking her night's dress in the sink, hanging it over the radiator to dry.

Was she brave enough to duck back into her room for clothes, knowing the door was slightly ajar, or did she wear the slip and dressing gown hanging on the bathroom door hooks? Choosing the latter, she pulled on her thin, ivory slip, and tightly wrapped her thicker dressing gown round her, tying it securely. It was a fancy thing that Meg and Mrs. Giry had bought her for her birthday one year.

Stepping into her room, she considered grabbing some clothes and ducking back into the bathroom, but a glance out the door stopped her.

There, in the golden sunlight streaming from her kitchen window over the sink, was Erik. His jacket remained off, but he looked as dapper as ever in his vest. His shirt sleeves were rolled up comfortably and his neck tie was on fairly loosely. His hair was perfectly slicked back as always, but his lips were in the slightest of lop sided grins. His long, lean figure was…beautiful in the morning light.

Even with his black suit, he joined the room in a golden glow. He was working on their breakfast, pouring coffee into two mugs before heading back to the kitchen table. He was so intent on his work that he did not notice Christine standing in the doorway with a dreamy smile painted upon her lips. She came over to him silently, not wishing to disturb this moment but to join in it.

Erik looked at her in surprise as she approached him. He was about to speak and explain himself when she grabbed his arm lightly and leaned her head into his shoulder, smiling gently. He continued to gaze at her in happy confusion as she stood there, enjoying the beautiful sunlight. He smiled, smelling the sweetness which always accompanied her and noting the slight rosiness to her skin from her shower. Her hair was still a bit damp in spots, but it shone almost auburn in the morning light.

She seemed to glow like an angel in her white dressing gown, looking so very beautiful. He wished he could kiss her. Not passionately, but simply so that she would understand the gift her beauty was and how happy he was to be graced with its sight. He wanted to pour every ounce of his love for her into one simple touch of the lips. Yet he dared not. He feared he would taint the moment and that was near blasphemy.

Slowly, elegantly, she opened her eyes, gazing up at him dreamily. She did not flinch or pull away when he tentatively reached down and brushed a few curls behind her ear, daring to graze her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She blinked softly as he did this, making him gasp slightly.

He continued to stare down into her perfect hazel eyes, not wishing for the moment to end. Unfortunately, Christine started to draw back some, though her lovely smile remained. Erik had to blink a few times to bring himself out of his daze.

'I made you breakfast,' he announced timidly.

She peered round him to see the table in more of the golden sunlight with two place settings. She smiled back at him as he gestured openly for the table. Ever the gentleman, he pulled out her chair for her, helping to slide it back in on the linoleum. She looked down at her plate to see a crepe with strawberries and bacon.

'Oh, thank you, Erik. It looks lovely.' Her face fell as she looked to his side of the table. 'But…where is yours?' she asked, noting his lack of plate or food.

'I am not very hungry,' he waved off.

'Erik, if this is about having your mask on—'

'Eat,' he said a bit too harshly. Softening his tone he added, 'Please.'

Christine got that hard look in her eyes that he both loved and feared. 'Not until you have some breakfast of your own,' she asserted.

Standing up from the table, she went into a small flurry of lace and curls. Erik felt dizzy watching her, but it was more wonderful than any ballet. When she returned, she held a small dish.

'Here,' she stated, putting it down before him.

He stared at it a moment. It was strawberries.

Christine noted his pause and worry began to grip her. 'Is it all right? Do you not like strawberries? I can get you something else if you…' She rambled, starting to reach over to retrieve the offending dish.

'No,' he told her hurriedly, stopping her hand. 'No, I just…' He sighed and gestured for her to take her seat. He waved her to eat a bit, wanting to tell her this in a more comfortable setting.

'When I was in the war,' he began, noting her face fall a bit. 'We—the other soldiers and I—would dream up things we would do when it was all over. Some of the men had wives or women to return to, and some were like me with no one. We would name the first thing we wanted to eat when we got home. I wanted strawberries. I never got them. All these years and I never bothered to get any.' He looked up to see tears brimming in her eyes. He smiled at the sentiment. 'Of course it would be you who would give them to me. You truly are an angel, Christine.' He smiled, realising some of his own tears were now sliding down his face.

She tried to laugh but it came out as more of a happy sob.

'Oh, darling. Don't cry,' he pleaded, his eyes pitying and regretful.

She shook herself, sniffing back her emotions a bit so that they could continue to eat. They finished their meal, talking of little things like any regular pair of people would. Christine felt more natural and free in this moment than she had in an age. She was happy, laughing, and not worrying over a single thing. Erik's company, as it always had been, was easy.

Once they had put their dishes into the sink basin, they moved into the living room area. Erik hovered in the kitchen doorway, looking the place over fully for the first time.

'You have to hold two jobs to pay for _this_?' he asked incredulously. It was not a bad place, but it was small enough to easily live out of on a salary from the Majestic alone.

Christine looked down, her eyes somewhat faded. 'It's not just this…' She trailed off.

Erik frowned, coming over beside her. He perched on the edge of the couch next to her, keeping a respectful distance between them.

'When my father grew ill, we did not have much money, and certainly not enough to pay for a hospital, but he needed help. He had to take out a loan to pay his expenses, hoping it would all be sorted once he was well again. Only, he didn't get better. When he died, the debt fell to me. I was able to avoid it until I was a bit older, but now I have to pay it off on my own or I will be arrested and taken back to France and I can't go back with the war on and—' She stopped, putting her head in her hands as she bent forward crying.

Erik watched in shock as she admitted this. If he had known, he would have helped her. He could transfer money to her easily and just take care of it all in one fell swoop. Hell, he could do that _and_ buy her whole apartment building if he so pleased. He would do it. For her, he would do anything.

Placing his hand on her quaking back, he gently rubbed soothing circles on the soft velveteen of her dressing gown. He wanted nothing more than to lift her like a babe into his arms and hold her tightly until she stopped crying.

'Christine,' he offered. 'I could pay your loan for you.'

Her head snapped up, her eyes red from crying and her face tear stained. 'No!' she objected a bit too loudly. 'I could never ask you to do that. You have been too kind to be already!'

'Christine, I love you. Besides, you're not asking, I'm offering,' he argued softly yet sternly.

'You don't have to.'

'I know.' He smiled, thumbing away a tear. 'I _want_ to.'

Christine sat, hating herself for blubbering like this. Would she be using him if she accepted his offer? She did not know, and did not care to think on it.

With her eyes downcast, she slowly turned towards him before bringing her arms about his neck and holding him tightly. She felt his arms gently settle to her back, pressing her ever so slightly into his embrace.

'You're too good for me. You deserve better,' she whispered, putting her cheek against his warm neck, smelling the cedar scent of his hair.

He hummed thoughtfully into her shoulder. 'I'm happy enough to dream of you. Besides, I'm not going to get anything better than you.'

Christine sobbed a bit at this, which he hushed in his purring voice. She hated being like this, making him think himself worthless without her. There were far prettier, less complicated girls in the world than her who would be fools not to fall for him. He was wonderful, kind, considerate, talented, generous, everything a girl could hope for and more. Why was he wasting his time on someone like her?

 _Because he loves me._

This almost sent her to tears right then. Despite everything, he had chosen her, and here she was being indecisive between two wonderful men she could never hope to be worthy of.

Out of nowhere, Erik started to hum. She could not quite place the tune yet.

'What song is that?' she asked, barely fighting the smile that rose to her lips.

'One of the ones I wrote a few years back,' he answered easily.

He continued on, making her feel as though she were melting until she hit the words.

 _Do I want to be with you  
As the years come and go?  
Only forever  
If you care to know._

 _Would I grant all your wishes  
And be proud of the task?  
Only forever  
If someone should ask. _

Christine looked at him in amazement. She had remembered this song when it came on the radio about three years ago. She had loved it from the start. He, her Erik, had written this. He was responsible for one of the most romantic songs she had ever heard. Without a second thought, she joined him, letting their voices effortlessly blend together into a beautiful harmony.

 _How long would it take me  
To be near if you beckon?  
Off hand I would figure  
Less than a second._

 _Do you think I'll remember  
How you looked when you smile?  
Only forever  
That's puttin' it mild. _

Erik looked in her eyes, noting that they had melted just as his had as they sang.

'You wrote that?' she asked, her tone adorably disbelieving.

'I wrote it thinking of you,' he admitted, feeling his heart flutter. He had not meant to tell her that ever and yet, at this moment, he did not fully regret it. Her face turned a lovely pink. 'Better than Mr. Crosby?' he asked, hoping to bring some levity to the moment.

She huffed a laugh. 'Definitely,' she said.

Her eyes tracked down from his eyes to his lips. It was from there that the beautiful sound had issued. It was from there that he had tried to capture her heart, yet it was she who had unwittingly succeeded in capturing his. She looked at his lips, finding herself leaning towards them dangerously. It was dangerous, but she was in his arms, so how bad could it be?

Erik felt her coming closer, her breath dancing on his skin as she neared. His eyes fluttered closed the closer she got to him. He could taste the sweetness of her breath now.

Christine angled her head slightly, continuing to move in. Her thumbs toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, enjoying their silky smooth ends. Her lips parted gently, their breaths mingling. She could practically taste his mouth.

A knock sounded at the door, jarring them both from their moment of bliss. It was rather urgent sounding and caused Christine to hop off the couch, her cheeks still healthily tinged red.

Erik glared at the door accusingly.

It was Mrs. Giry. 'Christine, I'm sorry to bother you, dear.' She sounded flustered, though looking Christine over did little to alleviate this. The girl was breathing a little heavily and was quite flushed. Shaking her head a bit, Mrs. Giry continued. 'But Raoul just called on the building phone. He sounded worried, saying you had not come to dinner last night.'

Christine groaned inwardly. In her bliss of the morning, she had completely forgotten what she had been doing the night before.

'He also wanted me to tell you that he's leaving today from the main port and will see you in a month,' she explained.

Christine jumped a bit. 'He's leaving already?!' She looked about her frantically, nearly slamming the door in Mrs. Giry's face before stumbling her way into her room.

Fighting on a dress and some reasonable shoes, she rushed back into the living room to see Erik standing, looking at her with hollowly despondent eyes.

Christine stopped short at seeing this. She felt pity and guilt well up in her stomach. She had almost kissed him, and like everything else, Raoul had taken that pleasure from him.

'I'm sorry, Erik. But he's going to be gone for a month and I didn't see him last night like I promised and—'

He held up a hand to stop her. 'Just go.' He gestured resignedly to the door.

'Erik, I am sorry,' she insisted, moving towards the door.

He did not meet her eyes. He did not watch as she went out, hurrying from the building to find a speedy cab to the port. He did not think about anything beyond the fact that even when gone for a month, that boy would still have her. That boy would win without even being there. It was hopeless to try and fight it. She would always return to the light and that boy's arms no matter what _he_ promised her.

Walking like a ghost through the apartment, he collected his jacket and locked the front door as he left.

* * *

Christine ran down the pier, waving to the few men on deck who remained looking at the city. The ship had already left, but she could just make out the distinct head of blonde curls and an all too familiar smile.

Raoul waved back to Christine. She looked sad, but beautiful. He had been concerned over her absence the night before. No one had answered his phone calls to the apartment building and he had walked there and met Mrs. Giry in the hall by accident. She had explained she had heard Christine's door close in the night. She seemed to believe the girl was just tired and had come home, or possibly lost the directions and did not know his phone number to call and ask. He had been somewhat unconvinced, but if Christine had come home, then he would not have much reason to worry. He was disappointed, but could not complain nay further. Given the hour of night, he had little right to bang on her door, asking for an explanation. If she was like her usual self, he would not receive much of one anyway. He had walked home with his head hung low. Something was not right here. He knew she was not giving herself the freedom she deserved to be happy. Something was holding her back. Yet, she had been so joyful on all of their dates, he could not help but feel she cared for him as he cared for her. Perhaps time would heal some of this. She said she would think things over more while he was gone.

Looking to his side, he saw Tom standing next to him. He nudged his friend, grinning like an idiot at the promise of seeing her again under more happy conditions.

Raoul continued to beam before saying with not a little pride, 'When I get back, I'm going to ask her to marry me.'

 **A/N:** ** _Only Forever,_** **1940\. Written by James V. Monaco and Johnny Burke for** ** _Rhythm on the River._**


	28. Chapter 28

New York, June 12, 1943

Things had been…quiet around the Majestic for the past month. More nights had been assigned to the band and Christine was nearly completely back to her original post helping Meg serve drinks. Carlotta had returned just a week after Raoul had left and demanded to have her job back or she would call the police for the letter. The managers had buckled under the imposing weight of arrest. They had regretfully informed Christine that she would not be singing as often because Carlotta had seniority. This was an old excuse, but she took it without too much protest. She knew from the fear in their eyes that the redhead held something dangerous over them.

Her return had gone unchallenged by any sort of ghost.

Christine was now down to singing on the weekends only.

She did not mind so much. Since May, she had not heard nor seen Erik. She got a rose on the dressing room table every night she sang, but he would not come to her, no matter how urgently she called. She was starting to feel lonely.

Her mind started to wander more often. Some nights she would find herself in the dressing room simply staring at the mirror. She would run through her warm ups and try practising, but her voice was starting to fail her. It sounded dull and lonesome, even to her numbed ears.

She nearly took Meg up on one of her famous offers to get her out on the town, simply because she was not paying attention. She apologised and came up with a weak excuse to refuse.

She walked home alone each night, occasionally looking over her shoulder for her shadowy guardian angel. She considered nightly the benefits of screaming and hoping he would come to her aid. She just wanted someone to talk to.

She knew she had hurt him terribly that day, now a month back. She had nearly kissed him! She had been so ready and he was always so kind and gentle. He had saved her and cared for her. It had felt right. He had been there, shining in the morning light, and showing her all of the golden dreams she had been hoping for. And now he was gone from her life. Yet so was Raoul.

Things may have felt right with Erik, but they felt safer with Raoul. That security was something she had been missing in her life for quite some time. All the world seemed to be in flux and nothing made sense until Raoul was there to tell her it was all right. Erik was cynical and jaded where Raoul was innocent and optimistic. In the here and now, the latter was an easier choice.

The day came when Raoul was supposed to return and she walked herself down the dock to where his ship would be anchored. She had Meg along with her, but in all honesty, the blonde had fallen into the background. She had waited all through the week to finally have her taste of normalcy back.

The girls waited through the veritable sea of sailors as they disembarked. Some gave the well-dressed ladies a passing glance or whistle, but most did not stop. They searched for their respective men and as soon as eye contact was made, the world fell away.

Raoul had not changed one bit since May apart from a bit of extra sun tanning his skin. His blonde curls looked a bit lighter now with his skin redder. His eyes still shone brightly and his smile spread as wide as a Cheshire cat's.

He hurried down the gangplank to see his awaiting beauty. He scooped her up instantly round the waist and held her above him as they twirled, letting her slowly come down to kiss him.

Christine let it all wash away in that meeting of lips. She let her worries over Erik and Raoul fade to the distant chatter of paranoia in the back of her head. She let her fingers slide through his slightly longer hair and rub her hands along his strong neck. Yet the feeling of incompleteness would not entirely leave her. She put her whole effort into being happy in his arms, but the moment she had shared with Erik the previous month would not fade.

They parted with a gasp and a smiling laugh before Raoul crushed her to him in a warm hug.

'Oh, I missed you,' he said, nuzzling her hair a bit.

'You're darn right you did.' She grinned up at him. 'I would hate to find you lost your heart to some coastal girl along the way.'

'Never. You're the only girl for me, Christine. Always have been.' He looked down at her earnestly. His smile faltered a bit as he slung his arm round her shoulder and they started walking back towards the city.

'Are you all right? You look kind of pale,' he noted, eyeing her pallid face and somewhat drawn cheeks.

'Oh, I'm fine.' She grinned up at him cheerily, still trying to push away thoughts of Erik. Raoul was not the only man she had missed seeing.

'Well, I look forward to hearing you sing all this week!'

Christine's expression did darken at this. 'Um, Raoul, things changed a bit since you left.' She was trying to let him off easy, but his overly happy mood was not going to allow for that. He only gazed at her in blank confusion despite the somehow still present grin. 'I only sing on the weekends now. Carlotta works Monday, Wednesday, and Friday while the band takes all the others,' she explained.

Raoul's face slid toward unhappiness before brightening back a bit. 'Well, at least I'll get to hear you tonight and tomorrow!' He looked like a drop of pure sunshine as he worked to find a positive.

Christine could not help it. After so long being alone without a sign that she was doing anything right, finding someone willing to turn her bad news into good made her feel like a gem. Pulling him down by his lapels, she planted a kiss right on his surprised—but happily smiling—lips.

'What was that for?' he asked, grinning.

'Just for being you.' She smiled at him somewhat dreamily and took his hand as they walked down the street in the general direction of the Majestic.

He took her all the way to the front door of the café, kissing her gently as she stood on tip toe before whispering his promise to return later.

She was still waving dazedly when Meg showed up, still a bit red from her parting with Tom. She looked over Christine, shook her head with a laugh, and ushered her friend inside.

'Christine, how long do you intend to go on like this?'

'Like what?' she asked, snapping back from her reverie.

'Like you're in love.' Meg asked her from the other side of the bar.

'Really, Meg!' Christine waved her off, blushing profusely and misunderstanding her friend's tone.

'Well, let's see, he leaves and you wander around here like a lost puppy and as soon as he comes back you're so enraptured that you don't even notice me when I go with you to the dock.'

'You were there too?' Christine asked dryly.

Meg hummed sharply at this, giving a mock glare as she put away her purse.

'But love, Meg? I'd only seen him for two weeks and we will only have this week before he goes off to God knows where and—'

'So I guess you had better make the most of this week, huh?' Meg eyed her with a grin. Christine just rolled her eyes.

'And what are you and Tom planning? I assume you two are going to make the most of your time too.' Christine raised a challenging eyebrow.

'He's taking me out to dinner tonight after the show and we're going to go see a movie tomorrow.' Meg held her hands on her hips proudly.

'Good. I'm glad to finally see you start to settle down with someone.' Christine turned to put her purse away as well.

'Oh, don't count on it.' Meg shot her a devious look before letting it relax to one of slight dreaminess. 'But he is sweet. I do like him.'

'That's good. You should consider expanding on that thought,' Christine urged, smiling smugly at her friend and leaning on the bar.

'Oh, hush, you!' Meg batted at her as she walked off to the back storage room. 'I can promise you now that I will not be the first between us to get married.'

'That's what you think,' Christine muttered, her eyes dimming some.

Meg missed this last parting shot and she had her back turned so she did not see Christine start to fall back into her slump. She did not want to feel this way, but she could not help it. Even knowing Raoul was back in her life (though for a brief amount of time) did little to help her. She felt a hole in her heart that he had not filled as she had wished. Perhaps if she gave him time…

* * *

 _I get along without you very well  
Of course, I do.  
Except when soft rains fall  
And drips from leaves  
Then I recall  
The thrill of being sheltered in your arms.  
Of course, I do  
But I get along without you very well._

 _I've forgotten you just like I should  
Of course, I have.  
Except to hear your name  
Or someone's laugh that is the same  
But I've forgotten you just like I should._

 _I get along without you very well  
Of course, I do.  
Except perhaps in Spring  
But I should never think of Spring  
For that would surely break my heart in two. _

She finished to her usual bout of applause, spotting Raoul's familiar smile in the crowd. She watched as the people cheered her on, staying just an instant longer to enjoy it. For she enjoyed this, did she not? The people begging for more and calling her name? Of course she liked this. It was what she had wanted for so long, was it not? She enjoyed doing this, it made her happy. So she was happy. She had to be.

A darkness passed through her as she descended the steps at the back of the stage. Her head felt funny and her limbs too heavy. She happened to glance up and see Mrs. Giry on a run to the store room for more drinks.

'Everything all right, dear?' she asked, concern creasing her stern brow.

'I think I'm going to sit down a minute. Please tell Raoul I will be ready in a few moments.'

Mrs. Giry nodded, casting one last glance behind her as she went back out in to the fray of customers.

Going into the dressing room, Christine sank down onto the settee. She felt completely drained, but she did not know why. She had not had to work at the bookstore today and she had not done anything strenuous with Raoul. He was back now. Everything should be fine. As Meg said earlier, she loved Raoul. Did she not?

Looking back up to the tall mirror, she silently pleaded that her teacher would return.

'I don't know what to do anymore.' Her voice seemed hollow. 'I have done everything you and my father asked of me, but it's not enough. I don't feel whole singing. I…have no one I want to sing for. I guess I never did it for myself. I wanted to learn to make it up to my father, and I performed for you. But now neither of you are around to care. If I stay with Raoul it won't matter. He wants to settle down. I won't have a career then. But I don't want to let go just yet. I want to know what I will be missing first. I want you to come back and tell me. I want you…' She trailed off her thought, not bothering to finish it. He could take from it what he wished. If that was all, that was all. She was tired of arguing what she felt with herself and everyone around her. She just wanted an answer.

She waited a few moments, tears slipping free when she realised she was still alone, before getting up and walking back to Raoul's cheery face. She buried herself in his arms and allowed his promises of a wonderful time to invade her mind.

She wanted it all. She wanted to see all he would give and then decide if she wanted it. But she also knew that with Raoul, what she saw was all there was. He was sweet and kind and steady. She had nothing new to discover; she never had. She had simply held off on her decision. She hated herself for dragging him along through this, but she did not have the strength now to choose. She also did not feel she had an alternative.

She let him walk her out of the café, ignoring Meg's grins, and not hearing the quiet tears and frustrated cries from below. She let Raoul take over for her a bit that night. She felt like a ghost forced to watch her body act out the part of a happy date. She could tell by the faint look in his eye that Raoul was not buying the charade, but he put up with it. Like her, he hoped tomorrow would be better.

 **A/N:** ** _I Get Along Without You_** **, 1939. Composed by Hoagy Carmichael, inspired by a poem by Jane Brown Thompson.**


	29. Chapter 29

'Christine, I'm taking you out to dinner!' Raoul announced this so happily that she could not resist the smile.

'All right, and where are we going?'

'Out.'

She grinned at his deviousness. Looping her arm with his, she followed him out of the Majestic in to the warm summer evening. She leaned her head against his shoulder, hoping to dispel some of her more troubling thoughts surrounding the evening. It was only Monday and Raoul's third day back in New York. She did not wish to waste a single moment when with him. She had had a late night this evening, only made worse by having to endure Carlotta's singing. She had managed to avoid the still huffing diva so far, though she caught her deathly sharp glances from across the room. The haughty singer did not appreciate the crowds Christine had managed to maintain and draw in during her short time in the spotlight. Christine could hardly blame her, but she was not about to apologise for her success.

She felt Raoul stop suddenly, looking up to see him glancing behind him with concern creasing his brow.

'What's wrong?' she asked, following his gaze to see nothing but the lurking shadows.

The darkness was occasionally interrupted by the passing headlights of a taxi cab or the opening of a door, but it quickly resumed its impenetrable, menacing presence.

'Oh, I felt kind of strange. Almost as if we were being watched.' He continued to squint at the darkness which was making Christine's skin crawl. She felt a shiver run up her spine as the memory of that night, now a month ago, reappeared. True, it had not been completely terrible, but she did not find dwelling on it particularly wise.

'I'm sure it was nothing,' he finally said, turning back to her with a radiant smile. She tried to return it, but it felt hollow.

They walked on, but she could feel the presence behind them now, bearing down on them in their happiness. She wondered if she should turn round so that she might she might see their pursuer and know his intentions, but she allowed fear to keep her latched to Raoul's arm. She had always been wary of the darkness, long believing it held the nightmares of her childhood. She nearly had passed this by when she met Erik, knowing that safety could lie even in the deepest of shadows, but this made her question.

Indeed, she had wondered since that night she had been attacked what had become of her attacker. Having not seen or hear from Erik since, she could not ask. Yet, a loud, sharp crack often echoed in her ears when she tried to remember the evil being's fate. Surely the man who so often wept for her acceptance could not hurt another so callously. But if he had not, would she still be here? And had Erik himself not said he had killed in war? Yet, war was a different matter, despite how it continued to haunt him. Her head spun in these conflicting and frightening thoughts.

She cast a glance over Raoul's shoulder with this, daring to wonder if the two lights of amber, flickering so faintly in the darkness, belonged to the man she thought of so often, but she did not wish to think on it. She was out on a date with Raoul, the man she was happily being courted by, and she would not let mysterious masked men lure her thoughts away. Raoul deserved better. Of course, so did Erik.

It was with a sigh of resignation and also relief that she entered the restaurant Raoul was holding the door open to. She smiled as she passed, having missed his gentlemanly displays of kindness.

They were seated quickly and Raoul ordered for them, clearly knowing the place well.

'I used to come here when my family would visit the states. I have always ordered the same thing: spaghetti.'

'How romantic,' she smirked sarcastically.

'I think it is.' He lifted his head imperiously before bursting into laughter that lightened the weight in her chest. She had missed this simplicity.

'So,' she said, lacing her fingers and resting her chin on them. 'How were all of the cities on the East Coast?' She raised an eyebrow at him, hinting to something beyond the simple change in scenery.

'Oh, they were fine,' he brushed off before meeting her eye with another winning grin. 'But nothing beats New York.'

'Good.' She leaned back, pleased with his answer and understanding.

'Were you so worried?'

She pretended to think for a moment before smiling. 'No, not really. I simply wished to be sure you weren't being drawn to something a bit more…inviting.'

This garnered her an eyebrow raise.

'Raoul, I know I'm not the prettiest girl in the world, and that's fine. I just…I _need_ someone constant. I've had too many—to use a New Yorker term—shake ups in my life. I honestly am not sure I could handle another.' She looked down, realising how much of herself she had revealed.

Raoul noticed a door had just opened to a part of her he had not seen often. Generally she was crying or about to cry, but now she was simply…trusting. Reaching across the red and white checked tablecloth, he took her hand in his. He searched her gaze, hoping to assure her that he was not going to leave her.

'Christine, you know I would never hurt you like that.'

His words rang in a different voice in her ear. She felt her heart constrict a bit, knowing all too well the pain that had accompanied them the first time she had heard them. This time was simply out of sympathy.

'I know. I truly do.' She nodded along, closing her eyes as she tried to convince herself.

'And,' he continued tenderly, 'I only ask that you be just as honest with me.'

Her gaze caught his before quickly turning away. He could have cursed. She was like a wild animal, afraid of humans.

'Christine,' he pressed, 'I just want to know that everything is all right. You always seem so distant and lost. I worry for you. Meg says you stay in too much and that you have not had fun in the city without me.'

'Do you _want_ me to go out?' she snapped at him. 'Do you _want_ me to go with Meg and pick up other men?'

'No! Of course not!' he held up his hands defensively. 'I just thought it would be nice for you to actually enjoy the place you live in.'

'Well, maybe I do and you just don't realise it. Maybe I like being a shut in with very few friends. Maybe I like the solid routine of my life. Maybe I like having to wait for someone else to tell me how to be happy or what I should want out of life. Because I don't know anymore, Raoul. I don't know.'

She felt tears welling in her eyes and shunned them spitefully. She was tired of crying and being comforted by others. She wanted this out, and she wanted it out now!

'I thought I knew and had a goal for myself, but it wasn't really mine. It was someone else's. And they did not even mean to control me. They just wanted me to have an opportunity. But perhaps I was wrong. They may have had an agenda after all. I'm just so confused. I don't know what thoughts are my own anymore.' She slumped her head into her hands, resting her elbows on the table.

Raoul sat in stunned silence. He had never seen her like this before. He wanted to hold her, but was afraid of being burned. He decided it might be best just to let her get it all out first.

She sighed heavily. 'I probably sound insane to you.'

'No! No,' he assured too quickly, 'I'm just trying to understand. I know so little of what has happened here…' He held up his hands in a helpless gesture.

Sighing again, she contemplated backing out. She had done so once already, and look where it had lead. Nowhere. She needed to tell the truth. The whole truth. If not for Raoul, then for herself. She could not hold it in any longer.

'When I first came here four years ago, I—uh—I heard this voice.'

'A voice?' Raoul asked, wondering if his fears were not unfounded.

'Yes. He offered to teach me to sing every night after closing. I would go to the dressing room at the Majestic and he would help me get my voice back. I hadn't sung in so long. I cringe to think of what I must have been like back then. He helped me. I grew confident again. It was the best time of my life. I would work every evening, and once everyone had gone home, I would go to my lesson. I got to know my teacher over the years. We got along fairly well. Then everything changed when you came.' She frowned slightly, not meeting his eyes as he looked at her in mixed horror and general concern.

'The night you came was the first time I had sung in public since my lessons began. It was my greatest triumph…and _his._ '

'Who is he?' Raoul asked, unable to restrain himself any longer.

'His name is Erik. He is…complex.' She smiled at her own wording. 'He is a genius musician. He's written most of the songs on the radio today.' She finally admitted it to herself, having known the titles in his collection. He had written them just as he had written _Only Forever_. 'He's also a brilliant architect. The Majestic is actually bigger than what you see. There's a hidden elevator behind the back wall, and a whole house beneath. He built it to be a speak-easy and decided to live there. He's worked on many of the buildings in the city.' A preternatural glow had overtaken her eyes as she said this. Raoul began to worry for her until he saw them darken once more.

'But he's also very broken. He fought in the war, the last one, and it damaged him.'

'Physically or mentally?'

'Both. He's deformed, but he has these fits. It's almost as if he forgets where he is. He will lose himself to the smallest of things. Once, it was just the sound of glass breaking and he was weeping in my arms.' She had to wipe away a tear at the memory.

Raoul was now completely on edge. He had not liked the idea of this mysterious music teacher from the start, and certainly was not any more comfortable now. This man could be a true threat to Christine's safety. 'Do you think he might be dangerous during one of these fits? What if he hurts you, thinking you were some kind of enemy?'

'No! He would never hurt me!' Christine argued instantly.

'But if he did not know it was you—'

'No! He's not like that. You don't understand. He would never hurt me because he…loves me.' The last she admitted with a whisper.

'He what?!'

'He is in love with me. I think he always has been to some degree. He sees me as some kind of perfect being. I tried to tell him I'm not and that thinking I am is not love, but he loves me anyways. He understands now and loves me. God knows I have enough flaws for him to find, but he just…accepts me.' She looked askance, not knowing where to go from here.

Raoul gazed at her long and hard, trying to find a new path to take. 'Christine,' he began slowly, knowing only one way this could go now. 'Do you love him?'

She looked at him sharply, but her eyes quickly melted. She tried to avoid him, but could not. 'I...' she trailed off, not sure of what answer to give anymore. 'I don't know.'

'Christine, I gave you a month. I told you to choose, but you haven't.'

'I know, and I'm sorry. I didn't see him the whole time you were gone. I tried to sort it out, but things got complicated at the café and I…' She saw in his eyes that she was making up excuses. 'I'm sorry.' She hung her head in defeat.

Raoul blinked slowly, trying to keep his composure. It was, of course, at that moment that their dinner arrived. He looked at the food, still hungry, but wondering how such a wonderful night had gone so wrong.

'Just tell me one thing,' he said, holding his breath slightly. 'Why did you not show up for our date the night before I left?'

Christine felt relief wash over her. This time she had a good reason. 'I was attacked on my way to your apartment. This man dragged me back into the alley and,' she shuddered, 'I would not have made it out of there without Erik. He came to my rescue. He took me home and made sure I was safe. That's why I didn't come to dinner that night. I was so shaken up from what happened that I forgot you were leaving the next morning. Had you not called, I would have missed you entirely. I'm so sorry, Raoul. I know you had looked forward to that night.'

Her eyes were sincere, and he could not resist them anyway. He nodded slowly. He did not like that this _Erik_ fellow had been the one to help her, but he was glad she was safe. If he had known it would have been such a problem, he would have picked her up. He would have argued with her firmly until she had agreed to take a cab. _Something_. Then perhaps none of this would have happened. But he was not that foolish. He knew this relationship between her and _Erik_ had been forming long before he had come back into her life. Yet if she cared for the man, then why was she here, trying so hard to be happy? Surely she knew lying to him would only hurt them all.

Looking at their food again and at her somewhat pleading eyes, he nodded his assent to her explanation. He knew this would be a night he would remember for a very long time.

'Raoul, please know that I do care for you very deeply,' she urged, obviously still trying to win him over a bit.

'I know you do. It's all right. I just…need you to decide. I care about you, Christine, and I don't want to make you unhappy, but I can't keep waiting around for something that won't ever happen.' He thought he was being very reasonable, and the way she nodded resignedly, she seemed to believe so too. He only hoped it would be enough before he left. He did not like to dwell on it, but her fears for his survival were not groundless. There was always the possibility that something could happen. Even if she did not love him, he wanted her to be safe and happy. Still, he did not trust this mystery _Erik_.

* * *

As he walked Christine home, Raoul could not resist the persistent feeling of being watched. He imagined eyes staring at him with anger and…jealousy? Looking back over his shoulder for the third time in ten minutes, Raoul searched the darkness. He only once had caught sight of something like flashing gold before it disappeared. He looked for it now. Perhaps the lights had been nothing but the reflection of a car or a trick of the warm streetlamps. Standing in the ring of light from one of these tall sentinels of the night, he felt like he was on an island in a sea of the dangerous unknown. He held Christine a little tighter to him, ensuring she would not walk off into the foreboding shadows, never to return.

She looked up at him confusedly as he stopped. 'Raoul, what's wrong?' she asked, this time not so innocently. She felt her stomach drop again, having noticed him glancing behind them rather frequently this night.

'I just can't shake this feeling of being watched,' he persisted, now growing frustrated at his assumed paranoia. 'I thought I saw something flash a moment ago.'

Christine's eyes suddenly burned with something akin to white flames. 'Erik!' she shouted to the darkness. 'Stop it, right now! This is silly and I'm not having it. Either come out and face us, or go home!'

Raoul looked at her with paling terror. This dark being stalking them was Erik? Christine's teacher, who had attempted to steal her heart, was the golden eyed shadow lurking behind them?

Silence prevailed through the street, broken only by Christine's furious breaths and the faint buzzing of the streetlamp. Then, suddenly, something seemed to lift from the air around them. The light of the lamp no longer seemed to be surrounded by the thick blanket of black darkness, but the deep blues of the night.

'Christine—'

'Just go home, Raoul. He won't bother you anymore,' she interrupted sternly.

'But Christine, what if he tries to hurt you?'

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'I told you, he won't hurt me. He…loves me. In his own special way, he's in love with me.'

Raoul fell deeply into her gaze. He wanted so badly to believe her, but something remained incomplete.

'Christine,' he took a bracing breath. 'I love you.'

She paused, not fully comprehending what these words meant. They came crashing down on her in one fell swoop. She tried to smile but it was small and slight. 'Y- _You_ love me _?_ '

'Yes,' he told her firmly. 'I do. And I promise not to let anything hurt you.' He shot a glare out to the empty street beyond.

She smiled a bit more honestly there. As one would smile to a child who had promised to slay a dragon for you. She cast her eyes back up at her white knight, shaking her head.

'I wish I could—'

'I know,' he trailed off slightly. 'I know. Just promise you will choose soon.'

She nodded, meaning it now. It was too late for her to simply back out. She had two men in love with her, and she knew she cared for both. It was time.

'May I kiss you?' he asked like a shy schoolboy.

She nodded, pulling him in. It was not as passionate as she would have liked, and it held little of the emotions she wished it could, but it sufficed.

When they parted, Raoul gave her one more kiss on the cheek before she walked to the door of her apartment building. He waved to her until he could not see her. He felt worry grip him until he remembered that he was Raoul Chagny. Nothing would stop him.

Christine walked up to her rooms, feeling the weight of her feet with each step, yet seeming almost lightheaded. Arriving at her door, she stopped to fish her key out of her purse.

' _Silly, am I?_ '

Christine jumped only slightly before sighing tiredly as the voice slid out of the darkness. 'Yes, you were being very silly. Did you have fun spying on me?'

A venomous snort was her reply. ' _As I recall,_ you _came looking for_ me _._ '

She gritted her teeth. 'So you decided to frighten Raoul? He already thinks you're dangerous.'

' _His fear is immaterial unless you are afraid it will make him take you from me. Do you wish to leave?_ '

'Sometimes I think it may be better,' she snapped. 'Then I won't have to worry about you lurking behind every corner.'

She did not hear his approach, only the slam of his hands on either side of her head as he loomed over her, pressing her further to the closed door behind her. She was forced to look up into his burning amber eyes. They were angry, yes, but mostly despairing.

'Is that what you think of me?' His voice cut through her; wounded and lost.

'Erik…' she started softly, almost reaching up to him with gentle fingers.

'No!' he growled. 'I will not be pitied. You want me to be some monster, fine! I aim to please you. I would do anything for you. You know that, don't you? _Anything_. If you love that sailor boy, then I will become the evil creature he thinks I am. It's easy for me.' He pushed off the wall, standing at his full height, making her either crane her neck to see his eyes in the shadowy hallway, or stare at his chest. She dug her fingers into her palms to stop them from trembling.

He started to stalk away from her, blending into the gloom again.

'Why do you hate Raoul so much? Because he is going to fight? Why don't you do something for the war effort?' she demanded.

Erik stopped, foot poised above the stairwell. 'That boy has you brain washed. I have done my part and earned my battle scars.' He turned just slightly to speak over his shoulder without looking at her. 'I hate him because he took you from me.'

'You don't know that. I haven't decided yet,' she murmured back to him.

' _Yes, you have_.' His reply ghosted to her ears as he submerged himself in the darkness, leaving her hollow and alone.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Ah! This phic has gone by so quickly! I am saying this because we only have five more chapters left! That said, I may eventually be tempted (or not lazy) enough to write an epilogue one-shot like I did with Swan Song Christmas. I enjoyed going back to those characters, so we shall see. In the meantime, I hope you all like this emotional roller coaster of a chapter.**

The week passed harmlessly. Christine did not see Erik or hear from him again, and Raoul slowly got over checking his back for mysterious singing teachers. Christine had taken Erik's advice and chosen.

Snuggling into Raoul's shoulder that Wednesday, she looked up at him with kind eyes. He had beamed down at her, having just taken her to go see another movie. This time staring Betty Grable and Cesar Romero in _Coney Island_.

'Hey, Christine,' he started, rubbing the back of his head nervously.

'Hmm?'

'D-Do you think you could take off work this Friday?'

'Why?'

'I, uh, I want to give you a proper date.'

'Aren't we on a date now?' she asked, tilting her head slightly.

'Well, yeah, but this one's going to be special.'

She thought for a moment, unsure if she could do this so close to the day. 'I'll see and tell you tomorrow night,' she explained. She was worried what he would have planned, but her mind, she told herself, was made up. She would stay with safe, normal  
Raoul and love him. He was the easy and sane choice.

This was the conversation that quickly set her world spinning. One could speculate it was her first mistake of the worst weekend of her life.

She got the night off for Friday and brought out her favourite dress. It had been an age since she had worn it, attending a masquerade party with Meg in it back in Paris. The bodice was a sweetheart neckline, complemented with cuff sleeves. The whole  
fabric was a midnight blue with small, yellow dots making it look like the night sky.

Christine waited outside of the Majestic, as she and Raoul had agreed upon, feeling rather strange to have a night off from work yet still being there. She tucked her perfectly coiffed hair behind her ear while she waited, listening to the drumming hum  
of customers inside the café.

From across the street, Raoul jogged over, in his naval best. This was to be their last night together for a while. His golden curls, never to be fully tamed, bounced cheerfully.

He greeted her warmly, sneaking in a quick kiss. He touched her lower back to lead her, much to her surprise, through the front door of the Majestic.

'Raoul?' she asked, looking over her shoulder at him perplexedly.

'I thought, what better place to take Christine than the finest jazz café in all of New York!' He smiled brightly at her.

'You're joking.' She looked at him incredulously.

No sooner had they sat down then Meg was at their table. 'What can I get you two?' she asked with a grin and a wink at them.

'You knew?' Christine burst out a bit loudly.

'Of course. He was the one who asked me to make sure you got the night off. We discussed it way back on Sunday,' Meg explained happily. 'Now, what would you like to drink?'

'Water,' Christine said flatly.

'What, no champagne?' Meg looked more confused than disappointed, making Christine wonder. Raoul gave Meg a look, making Christine's heart thud a bit faster.

As soon as Meg had gone, Christine rounded on her date. 'What did she mean by champagne?'

Raoul began to shift a bit in his chair. 'I, uh, I have something I want to ask you tonight.'

Christine felt her mind reel. 'What?'

'W-Will you…uh, well, that is to say, would you—'

He was interrupted when Meg returned with the drinks, setting them down on the table as inconspicuously as she could, but only succeeding in ruining the moment. She smiled weakly as Christine and Raoul stared at her before she dashed off again.

Raoul took the moment when Christine was looking away to kneel down before her. She jumped slightly when she turned back to see him kneeling. She noted his stance and felt the colour drain from her face.

'Christine.' Her mind was racing. 'Will you do me the extreme honour of becoming my wife?' Her stomach clenched and her mind came up blank. All she could hear was that small voice in the back of her mind telling her in its sappy tones, _you chose him, remember? You made your choice and it was him? Why back out now?_

She felt tears prick her eyes as she faced the beginning of her choice. This was the path she would travel down, never knowing where the other would have gone. She would play out her life as she had thought and was expected to. Nothing would be any different.

Raoul watched her intently, seeing the woman he loved, who just earlier that week had announced she had chosen him and loved him, start to tear up. He was smiling now, knowing that she must truly care.

'Yes.' She felt as though she was outside of herself as she said this. 'Yes, Raoul. I will marry you.'

She continued this feeling as she watched him place a modest ring on her finger, kiss her, wave happily to Meg, and retake his seat. All the while she thought through what would be her life. _Get married, leave the city, become a housewife, have children, give up everything I have ever wanted. Never look back. Never wish for anything more. That is what I will have. A shallow life with no deeper meaning or desires. That is what is expected of me. Of every woman. Raoul will love me, get busy with a job, possibly leave me as everyone seems to, and then I will be left with nothing. A wasted talent, no career, and only the regret that I didn't choose—_

'Excuse me, but would you mind terribly if I stole your date for a dance?'

Christine looked up at a tall man, standing over them. He seemed old and his eyes were hidden beneath the shadows cast by the scarce lighting of the café.

'I hate to ask it, but an old timer like me won't get many more chances to dance with such a beautiful lady,' the man continued.

'Not at all!' Raoul announced proudly.

'Oh, but I—' Christine began to protest.

'Go ahead, Christine! I'll be here,' he told her, practically dragging her from her seat. 'I need to go ask Meg for some champagne.'

Christine watched Raoul hurry off.

'Forgive me, have I interrupted something special?' the man asked.

'No. We just got engaged,' she explained flatly. She felt as though she were a million miles away.

The air seemed to tense a moment. 'That sounds fairly special to me,' the man said with a hint of question in his tone.

'Oh,' she looked down, somewhat embarrassedly as she came back to reality some. 'It is, I just…you haven't interrupted. It's fine.'

He quirked an eyebrow at her but continued to lead her into the small space reserved for dancing. The band, she realised, had begun playing instrumental for _You Were Meant for Me._

Christine took the man's hand, trying to hide her grimace at being pulled into a dance with a strange man. Stepping into his oddly distant yet welcoming arms, she further cringed as the lyrics to the song bounced through her head. Such an intimate piece  
to dance with someone she did not even know.

'You'll have to forgive me,' she said, feeling it only fair to warn him. 'But I'm not a very good dancer.'

'Well, I'm no Fred Astaire, but you seem to be doing fine to me.'

She could not help smiling at this. She was lucky that the band was playing something slow. She had always delegated the dancing to Meg.

'Thank you. You're not doing quite so badly yourself,' she remarked, noticing the ease with which he moved.

'Yes, well, I think it's from having a good partner.'

Christine's eyes dragged up to his still mostly shadowed face.

'Or,' he continued, breaking the spell. 'It is simply that I wanted to dance.' He tipped his head knowingly at her.

She ducked her gaze. 'I'm sorry.'

'It is all right, but it seems that dancing is not the only thing you did not wish to do tonight,' he persisted.

She felt her face redden. 'I made a choice,' she admitted quietly.

'Hmm, that you did,' he hummed thoughtfully. 'But was it the right one?'

Christine was unsure as to what she should tell this strange man, but she wondered if thinking out loud may help her. Taking a breath, she decided to answer. 'I don't know anymore. Every time I think I know what I want, something comes along to change  
my mind.'

'Then take this time to think it through. I don't mind in the slightest,' he said, raising his hand to stop her protests. 'Life only comes round once, it's important to make the right decisions while you can.'

She considered for a moment if she should tell him. He was a stranger, after all. Yet he seemed so familiar and comforting like her father. She needed her father, she realised. She needed someone she could confide in again without getting a biased answer.

'There are these two men,' she began. 'Both of them are in love with me.'

'Ah, such an age old struggle. And I take it your choice was between the two?'

She nodded. 'But I'm not sure I made the right choice. Raoul, my fiancé, is everything I already know. I can see every decision I am going to make in my whole life when I'm with him. He makes me feel secure. I thought I wanted that after the whirlwind  
my life has been.'

'And the other man?'

She sighed, catching how dreamy it sounded. 'The other is made of wonder and excitement and mystery. But he's also frightening and very broken. He loves me so completely he would never ask me to change a single part of me, but I want to grow. He thinks  
I'm perfect, but I know I'm not. I…I don't understand why he loves me. He lets me do what I want and supports me no matter what. If I fell, he would catch me and even let me try again.'

'Sounds very supportive,' the man put in.

'He is, but he does not have the confidence in himself. I worry I would not be strong enough to hold him up as well as myself.' She looked down, shaking her head. 'He's very complicated.'

The man seemed to think a moment, or perhaps he was simply judging her for her shallowness in indecision.

'The funny thing about love is, you are never alone in it. You say you worry about holding the both of you up, but if he supports you, all you have to do is care for him. You don't need to worry for yourself if he cares for you. Love is a partnership.  
Neither one is more important than the other.'

Christine looked up at him, wondering how old he truly was. He looked to be at least sixty, but he sounded younger in his voice. She glanced away, realising the wisdom of his words.

'Yet you're still uncertain.'

She nodded in reply.

'It sounds to me that you are afraid to defy expectation to get what you want. I am assuming your fiancé would have you settle down in a nice home like everyone else?' She nodded again. 'But you want more. So take it. There is nothing wrong with living  
the life you want.'

She smiled, knowing she had come to a similar conclusion before and turned it away for the easy choice. Yet something else loomed.

'But there's one more thing,' she said gravely. 'Raoul is leaving in the morning for the war. I want to give him something to fight for.'

'But you will be unhappy.'

'I would rather be unhappy than let my friend die thinking there's no point in coming back. The other man who loves me, he had nothing to come back to and it has scarred him, I think. He clings to anything that can make him feel worthwhile. I don't want  
Raoul to turn into that.'

'So you will make yourself and the other man unhappy so that Raoul may have the slightest possibility of living?'

'I've lost too many people,' she all but wept.

'And you will lose two more if you carry through with this plan. The other man, and yourself.'

Christine felt the tears slipping free again. It was at that moment, however, that the band announced it would be playing _Moonlight Serenade_ next. Christine looked up at the stage.

'I'm sorry,' she told the man. 'But I promised myself I would only dance to this piece with the man I loved.'

She turned, starting to slip through his fingers until he clutched her wrist.

'Christine, wait!'

She froze, slowly pivoting to look into his shining golden eyes. Her breath left her entirely.

The music started, jarring her to a form of half-consciousness. She did not even bother to think, rushing over to him and throwing her arms round his neck. She held him tightly as she gasped into his shoulder.

'Christine, I—'

'Just dance with me,' she whispered into his ear.

He paused only a moment before starting to slow dance. He held her close, savouring every step he took as she dangled slightly in his embrace.

'You look so beautiful tonight,' he murmured to her.

'And you look so old,' she laughed back. She realised now his face was just a more elaborate mask. He chuckled deeply in his throat, letting it rumble through her.

'The years have not been kind.'

'Don't say that,' she told him, pulling back a bit.

'Well, it doesn't sound as though they will get any kinder. Without you, I…' He trailed off before looking away.

'I'm sorry,' she whimpered.

He huffed a laugh before meeting her eyes again. 'We do not get to choose who, or when we fall in love. I suppose it's understandable, as I have never been particularly lucky.'

'Erik, if I could change it—'

'Don't lie,' he burst out. 'Don't lie, my darling,' he said more softly. 'You know you could change it, but you won't. I have resigned myself to this fate. I think it best you get used to yours.'

Just as the song finished, he broke them apart. Carlotta was announced and a darkly pained light came into Erik's eyes.

'In case you though a little _lye_ wouldn't hurt anyone,' he said with a strange quality to his voice, nodding to the righteous redhead taking the stage. Christine followed his gaze up to the singer.

Carlotta set down a glass on the piano, clearly having just drunk from it and taken up her position. She opened her mouth, and out came nothing but a hoarse scratch. She tried again, clearly surprised by the lack of sound. She tried once more before shaking  
her head and starting to panic. The crowd clearly noticed something was wrong and a few of the men started to call out to her. She only started panting hysterically as her voice continued to fail her.

Christine looked back to a deviously smiling Erik. He rolled his eyes to her, noting her distressed expression. Spreading his arms wide, he bowed slightly from the neck. 'Ah, the sweetness of silence,' he announced.

Christine backed up, shaking her head in horror at what he had done. She stopped when she bumped into someone behind her. She looked back to see Raoul, holding her to stop any fall their impact might have caused. He quickly looked up to the man before  
her, however, and his blue eyes turned to steel.

'Is this—?' he broke off, unable to say the name.

'I am afraid so, sir. You really must not give out your fiancée so freely. She is a treasure to be held closely and carefully,' Erik gave one glance to Christine, his tone softening momentarily.

'Don't speak of her that way!' Raoul snapped, pulling Christine to his side possessively.

'Stop it! Both of you!' she protested as the ruckus in the café reached its peak.

'Perhaps we should take this outside,' Erik suggested.

'I think we should,' Raoul agreed.

'What?! No!' Christine tried to push Raoul back, but he was walking towards the door through the sea of now roaring patrons. The night was falling to shambles.

Shuffling outside onto the street, Raoul tugged Christine to stand behind him.

'You leave her alone. She has made her choice!' Raoul told him boldly.

'Yes, but does she stand by it? Tell me, Christine, is he truly who you want?' Erik asked, peering round Raoul to speak.

Raoul growled, lunging forward and catching Erik in the jaw with his fist. The mask he had been wearing, made of some kind of rubber, ripped slightly. Raoul continued while Erik still reeled from the punch. Grabbing the corner of the mask, Raoul ripped  
it free, revealing the monstrous man beneath.

Erik felt something in him snap, and Christine saw it happen. His eyes grew wide in instinctual fear. His control ebbed, and he turned, punching Raoul in turn.

Christine, who had cried out for Raoul to stop, even trying to grab his arm to stop him, now cried for Erik. She saw the unmasked man in animalistic fear lash out at his attacker. There was only one thing to do.

Stepping in front of the bent over Raoul, she spread her arms wide. She closed her eyes to the raised hand of Erik, calling out one last time in hopes he would hear. She flinched from the expected blow.

'Erik, please!'

He stopped. His eyes grew less wild and more fearful. He looked at his angel, bracing for impact and then at his own hand. Though a part of his own body, it was foreign to him. He released the fist instantly, realising what he had been about to do to  
his love.

'Christine,' he whispered like a child afraid of the shadows in his room at night.

She opened her eyes to him, but all he could see was the fear and hurt in them. He could not stand it. He crumpled in on himself, whispering a thousand "no"s until he finally dashed back into the Majestic, hurrying to his home.

Christine watched his flight, heartbreak wracking through her. She slowly turned to Raoul and helped him up the rest of the way. She muttered assurances that everything would be all right before walking to her apartment. By then he convinced her he could  
make it back to his own residence. She told him she would see him in the morning at the dock. For the first time, she was not sure if she would make it there.

 **A/N:** ** _You Were Meant for Me_** **(1929) music by Nacio Herb Brown, lyrics by Arthur Freed.**

 ** _Moonlight Serenade_** **(1939) composed by Glenn Miller.**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Sorry for the late update today. I got busy with this phic I'm writing by hand (in my fancy-dancy left hander journal with my red fountain pen, no less) until I ran out of ink. At any rate, enjoy!**

Christine walked Raoul to the docks the following morning, he sporting a fairly noteworthy bruise on his jaw and she having to reassure him that it would all be fine.

'The Hell it will!' he protested at the dock. 'That freak is still out there!'

'Don't call him that,' she said in soft resignation.

'What do you expect me to call him?! With a face like that? Let alone how he snapped! He should be locked away somewhere!' He threw up his hands when Christine eyed him sharply. 'Oh, and I suppose you disagree. You know, I'm starting to wonder if you really have chosen me.'

'Raoul, don't say that,' she pleaded, seeing that this parting would be harder than she had planned. 'Please, not before you leave.'

'It's just that I worry about you, Christine. What if he tries to hurt you? You saw how he was last night,' he softened his tone, knowing they would be getting nowhere with his rage still apparent.

'It was only because you punched him! He got scared when his mask came off. It was just a small episode,' she defended weakly. She knew he was somewhat right, but his actions had been no better than Erik's.

'A small one?! I shudder to think what a bigger one would look like. If you hadn't stepped in like you did—'

'He would have hurt you more, I know. But the point is he didn't because he was afraid to hurt me. He would never hurt me.'

Raoul shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'I don't want to leave you like this,' he muttered, looking at her imploringly.

'Then don't. Just kiss me and promise to stay safe.' She took his face in her hands, letting herself fall into the soft blue of his eyes.

'Christine, I love you. And when I come back, I want to take you away from all of the craziness. We could get a house, or maybe move to a different city if you wanted. You shouldn't have to be caught up in this mess.'

'Don't worry about all that. Just come back in one piece, all right?' she asked him, hearing the call from the ship for all men to come aboard.

Leaning in, he gave her a firm kiss. It held little passion, so she put her own in. All of her fears for his return, all of her sorrows for how this was ending, and all of her love for her childhood friend. She could not bring herself to think of him as her fiancé just yet. Until this all felt right, he would remain her friend.

A small voice at the back of her head planted the seed of doubt, however. _What if it never feels right? What if Erik was right?_

Shaking off the "what ifs", she smiled as Raoul held her just a moment longer before breaking away to join his crewmates. He waved to her with a resigned sort of smile. She held back tears. She wanted his other smile; the happier one.

'I'll be here when you get back,' she whispered. She could have sworn he heard it, though, as his face broke out a smile like a ray of sun through the clouds.

'See you soon, Little Lotte!' he called to her, waving like the little boy she had known all those years ago.

She laughed, crying at the same time. She had missed this side of him. Though he had rarely ever brought it up during their nights out, she knew the war had changed him. It gave him a purpose and the feeling of being an adult for once. Being the youngest member of his family, she knew he often felt babied or pushed aside as not being as important. This was his way of showing his worth to himself and his family. Christine had never cared much about the side of him that sought glory or recognition, but she accepted it as being a part of who he was.

Turning away once the ship was too far off to see anymore, she headed back to the general area of the Majestic. So many thoughts were swimming through her head at once, she worried she would simply keel over. She walked for several minutes until she realised she was standing at the edge of the lake in Central Park. She looked out over the glassy green waters a moment before taking a seat on the summer grass. She was partially under a tree, so she let the shade act as a veil of safety while she thought about her life.

She remembered the summer she had spent with Raoul when they were children. He had been so free and careless. She had as well. She thought of all the little jokes they had shared and how happy she had been. Her father had entertained them in the evenings with his violin, she sometimes accompanying them, and then telling them stories she had heard all her life. She loved every minute of it.

They had had a tearful parting when Christine and her father left. Raoul's family was going off somewhere else as well. Raoul had made a solemn promise on the beach, etching it into the sand with a stick, that he would always love her and would find her again someday. He had been true to his word.

Feeling a pang of guilt, Christine realised how much it must have hurt him to finally make good on his promise of rediscovering her, only to see her confusedly distracted with another, a mysterious man. Raoul was the kind to cling to the promises of youth without fully thinking through the way in which people may change over time. He had not been raised to have or need that kind of responsibility. Joining the Navy was the most grown-up decision he had ever made. Even proposing to her had been a childish task. He was her knight once again, but nothing more.

He loved her truly enough, but it was not the love of a man to a woman; it was a child keeping his silly promise. And yet she had happily fallen into his world of make-believe. She had wanted to hide in his perfect illusion. War was simply a fight a hero must win, love was unconditional from first glance, and she was his little doll that he could make into whatever he wanted her to be. It was an easy existence. If Erik had not come along, she would not have known anything better. But Erik _was_ there.

Erik. She thought on him next; on how damaged and scarred he was by his life. He had lived the illusion of fairy tales once and been awoken harshly to reality. He was a man, not a boy playing at one. Yet, he still held the desire to go back. He wanted the childhood that had been snatched from him. His perfect clothes were to make up for the mark the real world had left on him. His meticulous home had been a show that he could have everything just so. It was proof that he could seem normal; that his wishes for his old fantasies could be a reality. He was fighting reality while knowing full well the battle could not be won.

She was a doll in his world as well. Only, he did not wish to maintain her in some false identity. He wanted her to be herself. He wanted to make a world just for her. It was like making a play and she was the star. He would build the sets and costumes for her to act out her life. Hell, we would build the whole theatre just so he could watch her and half wish to be a part of it. He wanted to be in her life, but was afraid he would taint it or not be good enough for it. He did not wish to ruin the show he thought she put on simply by existing. He did not realise that this was what reality was. He did not realise that she was being a regular person, not an actress. Everything was a show for him, so why would it be any different for anyone else?

And yet, she had seen behind the curtains of his play at humanity. She had seen the flubbed lines, the flat jokes, the trips and missed cues. He was not perfect in his performance. He was still an amateur actor. But he so desperately wanted to be perfect for her. He wanted it so badly it hurt him deeply when she rejected his performance. Every time she would show displeasure in his set, he would feel the sting of failure. He would be taken aback when she broke character with him. When she wavered from the script, he would be in shock. It was a good shock, though. He would see a little past the performance to the truth. He was learning slowly, but still working his way towards breaking out of the show.

He loved her for it all. He worshipped her performance, her dedication to the role, and also her dedication to bringing him into her world. She allowed him a space to live, which he had never had before. He had been shoved in corners and puddles, but never offered a place. He had never had someone run to him or hold him or worry for him as she did. Through her, he was learning kindness. He would give her things, but that was not the kindness she knew she granted him by remaining in his life.

The dangerous part of all of this was that she enjoyed it. She enjoyed helping him to be a person on his own. She enjoyed teaching him to be human and giving him a reason to exist. She knew neither choice was truly good, but she liked the experience of helping someone more than being sheltered and formed completely.

Raoul was sweet and would never intentionally hurt her in any way, but he did so every time she went somewhere with him. He would order her dinner for her, decide where they went that evening, or start their conversations. He would not be upset if she disagreed with him, but she never felt as though her opinions were strong enough to be bothered with.

With Erik, she had to make the first move in almost everything. He would happily do anything with her, but she had to choose. He would suggest something if she wished it, but only upon invitation. She pitied him in this as it showed he had little opinion or care to his own desires. Erik would gladly listen and helpfully support her thoughts. He would help her grow stronger because he loved her strength. She realised now that it was her hidden strength which had drawn him to her. He had seen what even she had not.

Thinking back on her dance with him the previous night, how bold she had been to talk to a seeming stranger about her troubles. She had known the choice she had made was wrong, yet she stuck with it. Even now, she felt the pull to stick to it. But the call of possibilities for her and Erik was too enticing.

Standing from the bank, knowing it to be time for her to go to work this evening, she resolved that she would tell him tonight. She would go back on her choice. She would explain to Raoul in a letter that she had been wrong and beg his forgiveness. She would stay with Erik. They would be happy together and she would have the life she now realised she wanted. She had a goal now.

Walking back to the Majestic, she saw elements of her new life so clearly, but so much was still an exciting mystery. The choices rested on him and her equally. She would continue to work at the café, living with Erik if he wished, and would train her voice more. Perhaps she could pursue opera as he had often suggested, or perhaps work on stage. They could move into a real apartment if he would allow it and they could be happy. She might even get him back into designing buildings or publishing a few of his songs. They would work and laugh and love each other.

She came into the front doors of the Majestic, greeting Meg more cheerily than she had in all of the past four years here. They chatted, Meg telling her of her date with Tom the previous night. Christine did not mention Raoul but once to say she walked him to the docks. Her mind was set too firmly on the man beneath the café.

She waited through the day, finishing her work at a comfortable time before heading onto the stage to warm up. Meg noted her friend's overwhelming happiness curiously. She would have thought a woman wishing her fiancé farewell, possibly forever, would be more upset, but Christine was practically beaming.

Christine reached new heights in her warm up. Perhaps she should visit nature more often. Her thoughts were settled for the first time in years and she felt refreshed and relieved.

As the evening came, tinting the outside sky with deepening lavenders and pinks, she looked over her set list. There was a new song on it. Talking it over with the band, they determined it was entirely new. None of them had ever heard it before, but they had all been supplied with sheet music and stands.

Without much time to go over it, Christine started her set of the night.

'I have something of a surprise,' she announced to the audience. 'We have a new song to perform this evening, so bear with me for holding the sheet music. We only got it in this afternoon.' She tried to school her features to hide her nervousness.

She cleared her throat lightly before starting.

 _Gone is the romance that was so divine.  
'tis broken and cannot be mended.  
You must go your way,  
And I must go mine.  
But now that our love dreams have ended..._

 _What'll I do  
When you are far away  
And I am blue?  
What'll I do? _

Christine slowly began to realise who this song was about. She knew the writer, and now the subject began to hit home. She sang the words as though she was reading a letter written for her.

 _What'll I do?  
When I am wond'ring who  
Is kissing you?  
What'll I do?_

 _What'll I do with just a photograph  
To tell my troubles to?_

 _When I'm alone  
With only dreams of you  
That won't come true,  
What'll I do? _

Searching the crowd again, she managed through her tears to see a man with a lean frame and dark hair. She did not doubt for a second if it was really him because of the golden eyes peering at her lovingly from out of the shadows. It was out of love that he had written this song, but it was out of sorrow that he had delivered it to her. It was out of resignation that he had made a choice of his own. Christine shook her head at him, wanting to yell out her confession, but the tears were choking her. She could not speak; she could not even move. All she could do was sob out the last piece of the song, trying to put her own emotions into it— _something_ so that he would know her heart.

 _What'll I do with just a photograph  
To tell my troubles to?_

 _When I'm alone  
With only dreams of you  
That won't come true,  
What'll I do? _

Her plan had failed. As she struggled to remain standing, she saw him rise smoothly from his chair, still applauding her with the rest. She did not hear anything beyond him. He turned for the door and she knew she had to will her legs to work.

Stumbling off the stage, she staggered to the door, pushing past a few people wishing to congratulate her or ask if she was all right. She burst out the door into the dark, warm night to see no one.

'Erik!' she wept, feeling her throat ache from the sobbing strain of the yell. 'Erik! No, please come back! Erik!' She wandered down the street, feeling her despair begin to crush her. She looked through the darkness in wild desperation for her shadow, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She walked to her apartment, not even realising that was the path she had taken until she was standing in her living room. Her face was a wreck, she knew, but she did not care. She wanted Erik back. No, she _needed_ Erik. She needed his soft and comforting embrace to surround her. Those were the arms she needed to return home to. His were the eyes she needed to see smiling at her when she walked through the door. His lips were the ones she needed to kiss when she awoke each morning. She needed him in her life to make it truly a life. On their own, they were both simply ghosting through existence, but together they found the world to be better. They found happiness and belonging in each other.

Christine must have stood in the middle of her living room, crying silently, for at least an hour until she was rudely brought out of her thoughts by a knock at her door. She flew to it, sobbing slightly.

She opened it to see not the black suit, but a black dress. Mrs. Giry and Meg were standing outside her door looking very confused and concerned. Christine let out another choked sob, bringing Meg rushing to her with an embrace.

'Christine, what's wrong?' the tiny blonde asked. She was perplexed as to where her earlier cheery friend had gone.

'He's left. He's gone forever now. I've made such a horrible mistake,' Christine wept, hardly coherent.

'But Raoul could come back,' Meg reasoned.

Christine violently shook her head. 'Not Raoul. Erik.' She did not care to explain who Erik was as Meg looked back at her mother for help. Mrs. Giry only pursed her lips.

'Christine,' Mrs. Giry stepped forward, coming into the apartment. 'I was told to give you this,' she said, holding out a letter.

The crying girl took it and looked at it as though she did not know what it was. She walked over to her chair and carefully opened it, noting the familiar handwriting on it announcing simply her name. It was written with care, wanting it to be as perfect as possible. Inside the envelope were two pieces of paper. Taking the thinner and smaller of the two, she unfolded it.

 _My dearest Christine,_

 _These past few years shall always remain in my memory as the happiest of my life. I doubt anything will ever take their place. I would happily die knowing that I had spent a portion of my miserable life in your gorgeous company. I fear I would have died had you not come into my life. I was horrible then, Christine, but you made me into something worthy of the classification: human. I shall forever be in your debt for that._

 _As you most likely noticed, I wrote you a song tonight. I wrote it for and about you, my angel. For I love you. I love you, but I know you do not feel the same, and I accept that. You have given me more than I could ever wish for in your unending kindness and generosity. I thank you for giving me the chance to know true happiness simply from your friendship (I may call it friendship, mightn't I? Forgive me if I have overstepped, but you are the first to come close to such a thing) and ask only that you spare me a thought every now and again. I would ask that it be happy, if you can. Please forgive me for all I have done and know that it was never meant to hurt you in any way. I wish you nothing but all the happiness this world can give you. And please know I will always love you, Christine._

 _—_ _E_

Already feeling faint, Christine pulled out the second piece of paper. She looked at it for the barest second before completely crumpling in nearly debilitating sobs. Meg tried to console her, but there was nothing to be done. She simply had fallen apart.

Over her friend's wails of despair, Meg looked at her mother as the woman picked up the second piece of paper. It was a form announcing that the debts of Gustave Daaé's medical bills were paid off in full.

 **A/N: Bear with me here on when the song was truly written, just as you did with** ** _Only Forever_** **. Both are period accurate, so that's something.**

 ** _What'll I Do?_** **, 1923. Written by Irving Berlin.**


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Here I am to save the wait! I know I left you all with a pretty nasty cliff-hanger last chapter, so here's this to make it better. *insert devilish grin* I would like to thank everyone who reviews this. I'm sorry I haven't acknowledged it in a while and that I'm getting slower in my reply PMs to thank you all, but I really do appreciate it. This website gives us something of the rare experience of knowing how readers are affected by the work in a chapter-by-chapter way that you wouldn't get with a paper book. It gives me confidence to hear all of your reactions, knowing that my writing could make you feel something deep for the characters. Well, let's get on with the chapter! I think this is another of my favourites. It was fun to write.**

 _June 30, 1943_

 _Dear Christine,_

 _I'm so glad to know I will be able to send these letters to you. It'll be hard to get yours out here at sea, but when we make port in England, we should be able to have better luck with correspondence. All of the guys are great, though I think some are already getting a bit homesick. Tom hasn't stopped talking about Meg and how much fun they had on their last night in New York. I wish we could have had a night like that. I won't argue about it, though, as…well, you are my fiancée now._

 _How's life and all that? I realise I forgot to write that first. Paper's too scarce around here to waste another sheet trying to write it over. Seems every guy on here is fighting over paper to use to write home. I guess I should have written my mom and brother too, but you are more important to me right now. I sure miss you and hope to hear from you soon._

 _I wish I could say more, but the mail goes out tomorrow and I've got a full shift. I love you, Christine._

 _All the love in the world, Raoul_

 _July 5, 1943_

 _Dear Erik,_

 _I miss you, Erik, how else could I start my letter? I miss you with every tick of the clock. I miss your voice calling to me through the glass of the mirror in the dressing room, the gold of your eyes, and the crisp angles of your jacket. Every time I go out now, or whenever I go on to perform, I scan the crowd for you. I miss you._

 _I left this letter just inside the mirror. I finally found the switch to open it. I don't know where you went, so I cannot possibly know where to send it. I hope you see it when you come back. Oh, how I want you to come back._ _If_ _When you do, I will be waiting with open arms. There is so much I need to tell you. There is so much I have come to discover that I simply cannot wait to tell you. Please come home soon. I need you._

 _I know you probably are angry with me, and you have every right to be, but please come back so that I can explain everything. I truly need you, my Angel._

 _Yours, Christine_

 _July 16, 1943_

 _Dearest Christine,_

 _Looking out at the sea, I realise how much I miss you. You wouldn't believe how much working out on deck in a spotless white uniform wears on you. We aren't supposed to be wearing our formals, but the Captain insisted that we learn to be responsible. If we mess them up we will be forced to try to wash them, or buy new ones. He wants us to fail, I suppose. It's an important lesson. A few guys have already been scrubbing at the sleeves. It's just for the first week, though. Then we can go back to our work uniforms again. The dark blue (they sure call it Navy blue for a reason) hides the stains real well._

 _Tom and I got in trouble a few days back. We were left in the mess hall after a small "party". At least, that's what the guys who started it called it. We didn't rat them out, though. We figured we'll make a mistake soon enough and they will have our backs, then. Anyway, you'd think they wouldn't mind so much calling it a mess room and all._

 _Say, do you remember the stories your dad used to tell us? You know, the ones that scared me so bad I couldn't walk back home alone in the dark. I had a dream I was in one the other night. I think it was Little Lotte, too. I saw you crying over a bird who had died. Strange, huh? I only mention it because I don't want you to be unhappy while I'm gone. Of course, I don't want you to be too happy. Got to have a fiancée to come home to, after all._

 _Well, I guess that's all the news I have for you so far. Or, at least all that will fit on here. I'll try to write about London in the next letter. I sure do miss you. I liked the paper you sent your last letter on. It smelled sweet. I made all the guys jealous when I told them you sent it. Remember the night when we got our pictures taken? Well, I have that one of you tucked safely in my breast pocket. That way, you're close to my heart as always. I showed it to the guys when they thought I was lying about loving the prettiest girl in New York._

 _All the love in the world, Raoul_

 _August 1, 1943_

 _My darling Erik,_

 _I walked through Central Park again today. The heat was awful, but I wanted to walk by the lake and think of you. I always go there to think of you and Papa now. I may have to stop soon because the heat is just too terrible. Remember when I would lean up against the glass of the dressing room for our lessons because it was so cool? I'm sure it must have been nice and cold in your home, what with it being underground. I miss your home. Some days I think about going down there, but I just can't bring myself to do it without you there. It wouldn't be the same. When you come back we can tidy it up together. I'm sure it's just covered with dust by now._

 _I wish you would come back soon. The letters I can't send you are piling up behind the mirror. I think I'll put them in boxes instead so that they don't get mildewed. I really should just stop writing them, but I can't. I just can't. I need you. I write letters to Raoul and he tells me all about his exciting time in the Navy. He talks about what he's up to and all that, but I would really love a letter from you. Just because I don't know where to send mine doesn't mean you can't write to me. I promise I would reply. I just need to hear from you. I need to know why you left…though I suppose I know why. If you had only stayed a little longer that night, you would have known. Perhaps things are better this way. I just…miss you._

 _Meg keeps trying to cheer me up. I think she pities me now. I still stay to close up, just going in to deliver your letters like this one, and staring at the mirror as if I'm waiting for you. One night I was so tired I fell asleep on the sofa and dreamt you sang to me. When I woke up, I called to you until I was almost sore. I cried for a long time after that. I know you're not back, though, because all of the letters remain unopened._

 _Please come home soon. I miss you so very much. I need you back in my life. You make the world wonderful._

 _Yours, Christine_

 _August 23, 1943_

 _My dearest Christine,_

 _I keep forgetting to tell you about England. Well, from my perspective, it looks like Hell. Pure Hell._

 _All the buildings are half blown up and the streets are full of rubble. Every morning a few of us guys go out and help people clean up the streets so they can get to work. They just keep going. There's this poster I saw with the saying_ Keep Calm and Carry On _, and they do. I think it's incredible, but also pretty sad. I saw a kid yesterday running around with his gas mask on for fun. He and his friends were playing with them on. Their parents were going to scold them, but they realised it was better they get used to wearing them and not be afraid. I have to say they look a little spooky, but at least it'll help keep them safe._

 _The war is like a dark cloud hanging over these people, but they don't mind. I asked a fellow I met on the street how everyone manages with such darkness looming and he just shrugged and said, 'Eh, we're used to clouds covering the sun.' They're just like that. It's a marvel and a tragedy all at once._

 _Aw, and here I've used all my paper talking about Londoners and the war when I could have been telling you all the ways I miss you. I guess that'll have to wait for the next letter. The whole thing, filled with sappy love for you, is it a date?_

 _All the love in the world, Raoul_

 _September 26, 1943_

 _My darling Erik,_

 _I barely had any time to write this today, but I managed it in. There's nothing I would rather do than write to you. The box is getting pretty full of letters behind the mirror. Yesterday I wrote two just because I was afraid I would miss today._

 _Joseph quit yesterday, making Meg the new bartender and me the only waitress beside Mrs. Giry, who has decided to take on that job, too. She helps Meg with the drink orders most nights, though, so I'm by myself. I really miss the old days when it was so easy. I'm considering leaving my job at the bookstore, but if something happens here, I don't want to lose it. Jobs aren't scarce if you know where to look, but some places don't want to take women, even though everyone's short on men right now. The men who are still here are either rejects from the Army with a chip on their shoulder, or simply don't care enough._

 _I miss you, Erik. I truly do. You would sit and listen to me complain about my day and I would calm you down from your rants about Mr. Andrews and Firmin. Remember those times? I do._

 _I hope to write more tomorrow. Please come home soon._

 _Yours, Christine_

 _October 31, 1943_

 _My dearest Christine,_

 _Sorry it's been so long. We actually went out to sea again! It was thrilling and frightening. We were only transporting this time, but it was scary enough. You'd think sitting through bombings in London every night would be enough to get me used to it, but some nights I can hardly sleep I'm so on edge. Don't worry for me, though. Some of the other guys are so jittery they live off coffee. And trust me, the coffee on board is enough to keep you either ill or awake for days, if not both._

 _Anyways, I don't know how much I can say about the whole thing without it being censored. Tell me about New York some. I miss the city. London's got a different feel to it. It moves, but it feels slower somehow. I miss all the bright lights. Here all the lights are out because of the bombings. They have a siren that I swear I hear in my dreams now._

 _Tom says he got a letter from Meg saying she's bartending now. I guess Joseph left, then. I hope you're not working too hard because of it. I wish I was there with you, but I promise to come home first chance I get. Just know that though miles are spread between us, I am right there beside you every day. You're in my heart and thoughts every step I take. I miss you, love._

 _All the love in the world, Raoul_

 _November 16, 1943_

 _My Darling Erik,_

 _Please come home. Please. I need you so much. I don't know what to do without you anymore. I can hardly sing and the café is just getting gloomier and gloomier every time I walk through the door. Meg keeps trying to make me happy, but not even the cooler weather can. You know how I love the autumn with all of the beautiful trees. They're just dead leaves to me now._

 _I try to be happy in my letters to you, but it's just so hard. Everything is hard. You left without a word and I'm here trying to pick up pieces that don't fit together anymore. They cannot fit without you._

 _I wish you would come back. If you only returned, I could talk to you and explain everything. I know I hurt you. I hurt all of us. I'm to blame for the way things are going. I know that now. I knew it then, too, I was just too scared to lose people to admit it to myself. Just come back. You don't have to stay, just come back so I can see you again. I need you._

 _Carlotta officially left after what you did to her. I think she just gave up hope that her voice would come back after waiting for so long. I still don't know that I have forgiven you for it all. The managers know they can't afford to hire someone to take over for her. Business has been slow with all of the men off fighting. We are a small number who has to stick together, but not having another singer is not helping. The managers told me they need me more for waiting the tables while the band plays. And, honestly, I'm not sure I could sing. I simply don't have it in me anymore._

 _Please come home, Erik. We all need you back to make this place feel like it used to._

 _Yours, Christine_

 _November 26, 1943_

 _My Dearest Christine,_

 _This may be my last letter for a while. We're shipping off for real this time. I don't know when we will be back. I wish I could tell you more, but I know it will all just be censored. Let me say that we will be seeing some fighting. Hopefully that will go through._

 _I love you more every day, Christine. I think of your smile before I close my eyes each night, and the nights when I have the late shift, I keep awake thinking of all we'll do together when I get back. I wake up hearing your voice singing in my ears. Funny that after all these months, I still know your voice so well. You are truly beautiful, love. I know I didn't say it nearly enough last time we were together, or any time for that matter. I promise to make it up to you the whole rest of our lives._

 _All the love in the world, Raoul_

New York, December 18, 1943

Christine looked through her mail as she sat in the Majestic. She was there a little earlier that day with Meg to help her prepare the bar.

'Anything new from Raoul?' Meg asked, hoping for a pleasant distraction from the gloomy silence Christine had gone to forming. The woman was inconsolable some days and it worried Meg deeply.

Christine hummed noncommittally as she finished sifting through for the letter she had long been doubting would ever come. There was never any letter addressed to her from an Erik, or from an unmentioned location. Today, however, there was a Western Union Telegram sitting at the bottom of the stack.

It made her stomach drop and her heart clench simultaneously. She pulled it out, holding it up but not hearing Meg's ceasing movement. She opened the yellow paper carefully as though she expected it to explode at any moment.

 _Ms. Christine Daaé,_

 _Note that this has been duplicated and sent to the family of Mr. Chagny as per his request on the form._

 _We sincerely regret to inform you that Mr. Raoul D. Chagny was lost at sea when his ship,_ Samuel J. Tilden _, was sunk on Thursday, December 2_ _nd_ _, 1943. He is presumed dead, along with all other members of the crew. We offer our condolences._

Christine fell from her chair into the arms of Meg who was horrified to find her dearest friend weeping so, only months after her last episode. When she saw the telegram, however, she cried too. Tom had been on that ship. Both men were dead along with several others. The war had taken yet more casualties.

* * *

 _I'll never forget you._

 _I'll never forget you._

 _I'll never forget how we promised one day_

 _To love one another forever that way._

 _We said we'd never say, "Good-bye"._

 _But that was long ago._

 _Now you've forgotten, I know._

 _No use to wonder why._

 _Let's say farewell with a sigh._

 _Let love die._

 _But we'll go on living,_

 _Our own way of living._

 _So you take the high road and I'll take the low._

 _It's time that we parted,_

 _It's much better so._

 _But kiss me, as you go._

 _Good-bye._

Tears dripped down Christine's cheeks as she looked out into the audience, hoping to see the blue eyes shining back at her. The amber eyes filled with love. Any eyes. She felt alone up on the stage. She knew she was singing flatly, but her emotions were spent. This song was for her and Raoul, for Meg and Tom, or for anyone who needed it tonight in the sea of shadowed faces.

She had lost both men to her own foolishness. She had hoped that through her sacrifice, she could somehow assure Raoul's survival, but he had died just the same and she had lost Erik as well. She had only wanted to protect the people that mattered to her, but instead she had been selfish and hurt everyone. Her hesitation and indecision had cost her. She could have spent more time with Raoul if she had made her choice sooner, but she would not have loved him as she knew she did Erik.

She felt as though she was drowning. She wondered grimly if Raoul had thought of her in his last moments. If he had felt the water pressing down on him as she now did with her guilt. It was all for nothing, however. Raoul was dead and Erik was gone. She had ruined her own life.

 **A/N:** ** _Goodbye_** **, 1935. Written by Gordon Jenkins.**


	33. Chapter 33

New York, January 9, 1944

Christine walked to work, a set to her step that had never been there before. She looked at all of the automobiles in the city, the way the light glinted off of them and how everyone was going somewhere. Every person had a life, an aspiration, a love. They all had their own stories to tell. She wondered whether her story, if told, would be anything worthwhile. She supposed it was less her story and more the people she had in it. They were the true characters and instigators of any kind of event in her life. She had merely followed them through and said goodbye to them as they left. They always left.

Walking to the Majestic had been a routine she had not noticed or cared about for some weeks. She still did not care as much as she probably should have. She had not sung since the telegram had come, the managers having heard her sad performance and determining she needed a break from it. They did not understand how it felt to lose someone so close to them, but they felt like they were watching her ghost through her days.

Meg had bounced back better. She was already seeing someone new, not having spent as much time with Tom as Christine had with Raoul. Tom was more to Meg a good friend she could have had a happy future with. Raoul had already laid out Christine's whole life before her. Though she did not want it, it was still hard to let go of the idea. She had nowhere to go from here. She would be on her own.

With one last letter tucked securely in her purse, she entered through the familiar front doors of the café. She had promised herself that she would smile today. This would be the last time she walked in here. This would be the last night she sang.

'Christine!' Meg called from the bar, looking already as if she expected her cheery cry to fall on deaf ears. Christine smiled at her, somehow summoning warmth to her now slightly gaunt features.

'How are you today, Meg?' Christine asked, surprising her friend by the lightness of the reply.

'Um, fine. I have a date tonight. I think he might propose,' Meg announced giddily as Christine continued to brighten.

'That's wonderful, Meg! I'm so happy for you,' Christine said, leaning on the bar easily. 'I would say it may be too soon, but I know how you feel about him.'

'Yeah, Maman thought I was being too rash, but we just fit. He's the salt to my pepper.'

Christine grinned, knowing the analogy was well suited to her friend. She and her new suitor—as Mrs. Giry called him—had been going steady for some weeks now. They had met at a dance hall. He had connections to some of the major dance companies in New York and had offered to show Meg off a bit. He was also wealthy, which was a firm bonus in Meg's book. Mrs. Giry had not minded so much either. She wanted her daughter to have the best, thus their coming to America. Through Meg's new beau, she might also achieve a better life. Christine was pleased for her. She had met the man and found him very agreeable with a good head on his shoulders. He would be able to take part in Meg's adventures and maybe pull her out of a few.

'I can't believe this is your last night with us, Christine. It feels like yesterday I was showing you the ropes,' Meg pouted, pulling Christine from her musings.

'I know. But there's simply nothing left for me here,' she replied, knowing she would miss this.

'Where will you go?'

'I'm not sure yet. I know most of Europe is off-limits until the war ends, but I thought maybe Sweden would be a fair option. Go back to my roots some. I don't approve of their continuing to sell iron to Germany, but they are one of the few successfully neutral countries.'

Meg nodded her understanding, knowing how grim the war was. She had been just as glory bound until Tom had died. She had threatened her mother a few time with going off to join somehow. She had decided against it, of course, but she felt the popular pull to doing something for the countries she loved. Though New York was her home, she missed Paris. She hoped to go back once the war was over.

'Well, be careful, all right?' Meg said, coming round the bar to hug her friend for possibly the hundredth time since her announced departure.

'I will. I would say the same of you, but I know you probably wouldn't listen,' Christine laughed, trying to memorise the feeling of a friendly embrace.

'Aw, you know I'm not _that_ bad,' Meg protested playfully.

'Mhmm, sure. Now, let's get to work.' Christine started cleaning, knowing that if they did not do it now, they would just end up spending the whole afternoon reminiscing and trying not to cry.

They worked fairly diligently, chatting over silly things of little consequence but that both would sorely miss. They had been friends so long, it was hard to imagine them being apart, possibly forever.

As the evening started to settle outside, Christine went to the back to warm up. She ducked into the dressing room, looking it over one last time. Opening the mirror showed the box full of letters. She had half-hoped that tonight would be the night she found them gone. She had wanted so desperately to find the man they were all addressed to standing there instead. But there was no man; only stacks of paper unseen by their intended's eyes. Closing the lid of the box, she placed her last message, this one in a partially sealed envelope, on top. She looked at her carefully written lettering in their swirling script: Erik.

She closed her eyes, whispering the silent prayer which accompanied the delivery of every letter in the box. _Please come back home. I need you. I need to see you again._

Hearing the band in the hallway outside, she closed the mirror, never having been brave enough to venture to the house below, and walked out to meet them. She knew the underground house would hold nothing but dusty memories. She had cursed it to that when she lied to herself about what was right. She had turned away from who she was because she was afraid of what she would lose. She had been afraid to let herself want something and had paid the price by losing any chance of anything.

Stepping up onto the stage after her farewell embraces to each of the band members, she took the microphone and cleared her throat. This speech had been a long time coming. She did not need to see into the audience to know it was a nearly full house. She did not need to have their presence to reassure her anymore. She never truly had.

'Hello everyone,' she announced, putting on more bravado than she felt. 'Thank you all for coming tonight. As I'm sure you know, this is to be my last night here. It's my last night singing.' She looked down, feeling the full weight of her words and the plan she had set for this evening resting heavily upon her. 'And I wanted to make it special, so I hope you enjoy this.'

She went off on her set, singing perhaps the best she ever had. She put her whole heart and soul into it, imagining she was singing to the man she had always sung for. She imagined him sitting in the audience, looking up at her with slight disapproval of her wasted talents. That she would dare even consider leaving was unacceptable to him. She hid a watery smile at this. That he would even think or care about her was enough. She imagined him to be the man sitting somewhat near the door with the immaculate black suit or possibly the one of the other shadowed figures. She knew it was not him, though. It could not be. He had left and his amber eyes were not shining from the shadows cast upon the faces of the crowd.

When at last she reached the end of the set, she paused, talking amongst the band a moment and making sure they had their sheet music in order.

Taking back the microphone, she let her stage face fall. She wanted to speak as herself tonight. She needed to say this as herself.

'I wanted to say a few things before I go tonight. Now, I know there are probably many of you who have been affected by the war, and for that I offer my condolences. I hate to end this on a low note, but I think people have forgotten that that is what the war is. A low note. But there is love in it too. I have loved several people. My parents were the first to teach me love and when they were gone, the Girys taught it to me. They taught me that it does not belong only to those who are relations by blood. A family can be anything or anyone. My now late fiancé taught me that it can be anywhere. He loved me very much and I will never forget his friendship and devotion.

'I have another, however, who taught me to love myself. He accepted every bit of me and I was too blind to see the value in it; in myself and who I could be. Sometimes in this world it is hard to see that; to know that you are worth the thought and the love others pour into you. It is the love of others that I see when I look in the mirror.' She stopped to wipe away a tear. 'But life demands more sometimes. Sometimes it takes away more than you can give back. It leaves you hollow without the people who made you who you are. I sing a song I wrote to honour the man who loved me more than I could ever understand, and I will leave here tonight hoping that my sentiments will have somehow reached him. That he will know how thankful I am for his unending kindness.'

 _You'll never know just how much I miss you._

 _You'll never know just how much I care._

 _And if I tried, I still couldn't hide my love for you._

 _You ought to know, for haven't I told you so_

 _A million or more times?_

 _You went away and my heart went with you._

 _I speak your name in my every prayer._

 _If there was some other way to prove that I love you,_

 _I swear I don't know how._

 _You'll never know if you don't know now._

 _You said goodbye,_

 _The stars in the sky refused to shine._

 _Take it from me_

 _It's no fun to be alone_

 _With moonlight and memories._

 _You went away and my heart went with you._

 _I speak your name in my every prayer._

 _If there is some other way to prove that I love you,_

 _I swear, I don't know how!_

 _You'll never know if you don't…know…now._

Though tears streamed from her eyes and her throat choked with sobs, she got the song out. It had been haunting her for months and now she let it out. She had hummed it, but never opened her mouth to speak it. She wanted it to reflect the moment. She had heard it in his voice in her head. She knew it would be perfect. Looking out at the audience now, knowing she was not the only one with tears in her eyes, she bowed, murmured her thanks, and then left. The applause did not start. It remained silent as she walked to the door. There was no music left, no voice heard as they all shared a moment of silence. She ducked out the door, giving the silently weeping Meg and Mrs. Giry one last parting hug. She faced the cold night, feeling the winter wind nipping at her sharply. It knew where she wanted to go. It knew the destiny of her night.

* * *

From inside the café, the man with the sharp black suit sat in a daze with everyone else. He had never heard her sing like that before. He had come in this night to see her happy and then leave, knowing it was not because of him that she revelled in joy. He almost wondered if she would be there at all. Perhaps she was already wed and off making beautiful children. But she was there. She was there to sing one last time. He had been glad of the letter from Mrs. Giry, then. She had been the one to tell him to return, fight it though he had. She had always been so helpful to his cause in the Majestic. He had considered at length simply refusing the offer, however. All she had said was to come back. She had mentioned nothing of Christine. She had not told him Raoul was dead. He had never cared for the boy, but he knew Christine did. Hearing her say, 'late fiancé' made him worry for her even more. He knew how hard another loss would hit her. Her song was evidence enough of that.

Rising slowly from his seat, he went to the dressing room at the back of the café. He opened the door without gaining a single glance from the dispersing band. His convincing mask and makeup had seen to that. Striding up to the mirror, he flipped the hidden switch easily. He nearly stepped through, but something unexpected appeared where his foot should have come to land.

Turning on the light in the room, he looked at the box quizzically. He picked up the envelope on top, noting its elegant printing of his name. He flipped it round to break the seal, but stopped. Perhaps it was best to let things lie. For all he knew, the box was full of everything he had given her. Perhaps it was full of pictures of her happiness. But she had not seemed happy. Curiosity won out and he read the letter, scented ever so slightly like her: tulips and vanilla.

 _My darling Erik,_

 _This is the last letter I intend to write to you. I do not think there is any more space left in the box or sentiments in my heart to add more. I am going to sing one last time for you, my angel. I will give you my heart as I have every day I have known you. I will make sure to leave you the sheet music. I do not need it now. It was for you. I wrote every word hearing you echo it in my head. There was not a note that did not speak of you._

 _I did tell you, Angel. I swear that I did. A million times I told you how I feel. Letters, dances, tears, all of it telling you how I felt even when I did not fully know it. I have shed more than a million tears for you. I miss you. I need you. Even those are sentiments. I wish I could say the words. I did in the song. Did you hear them? I sang it for you so that the words would find you. So that you would know. But you will never know. You never came back, my angel. I broke everything and now you will not come back. It's all my fault. If I had listened, it would be all right._

 _I miss you, my darling. I cannot say the words because everyone I tell leaves me. They all die. I don't want you to die. I want you to live and be happy. I cannot be happy, but you can. I do not deserve to be happy, but you do. I just hope the East River isn't too cold._

 _Yours, Christine_

Erik was not there to see the paper hit the floor. No one in the café was sure they saw him rush out the door into the cold night. They would only remember a whoosh of cool air blowing past them as the door suddenly closed.

 **A/N:** ** _You'll Never Know_** **, 1943. Composed by Harry Warren, lyrics by Mack Gordon. I used the version as sung by Nat "King" Cole and Nelson Riddle & His Orchestra in 1954 as well as Sierra Boggess in her ****_Awakening Live at 54 Below_** **.**


	34. Chapter 34

Christine looked out the taxi cab windows as snow began to drift down. It was cold enough for ice to spot the roads and the snow to stick to the ground, coating it in its clean white. She had always admired snow for its cleansing and simplifying skills.

At last the taxi pulled up just a block away from the Queensboro Bridge. She stepped out, having already paid the driver well for his service this late at night.

'You stay warm now, miss,' he called to her from his window, already moving to close it. She smiled and waved to him cheerily. She ducked into her scarf and headed off towards the bridge. She toyed with the red fabric, knowing all of the memories held within it. Her mother had made it for her father, who then passed it on to her. Raoul had once saved it when it blew from her neck at the beach. It was a silly thing to wear to the beach, but she enjoyed the softness of the weave. He had retrieved it, dripping wet from the ocean. He had smiled so cheerily at her. She also remembered how Mrs. Giry and Meg had worked to repair it when a hole had been torn in it. She had once forgotten it at the café and had been terrified she had lost it on the walk home. The next night, when she went in for her lesson, she found it folded neatly on the vanity table in the dressing room, a red rose beside it.

Looking down at the article now, she realised everyone she had ever cared about had touched this scarf. In it was woven the care of the people who loved her. She found it wonderfully fitting that she would be wearing it this night.

Walking up to the guard rail of the bridge, she was surprised to see so little traffic on it. She realised that the bridge was closed to automobiles as it was icing quickly. They would open it again in the morning.

She put her hands on the cold rail, noting the brick post beside it. She looked out across the river, feeling the harsh watery wind nipping at her face. She thought of every day she had spent in this city, every smile she had shown amongst her friends. She saw herself four years ago, eager eyed and excited to be in a new place with people who cared about her. Now here she stood, seeing the city for what it was: its citizens. The city was nothing without the people who lived there. That was what drew her in. It was not simply the potential that something magical would happen, but the promise that it will. With so many people, how could it not?

She took a breath of the bitterly cold air before holding onto the brick beside her. She used it to help her step up onto the guard rail. They may one day put up a fence of some kind to prevent this sort of thing, but until then, Christine would make good use of its lacking presence. She felt the wind pick up the edges of her coat, flapping about her thinly stockinged legs. She had managed to keep hers longer and avoid having to paint the seam. She felt her cold reddened fingers grip into the brick as she looked out over the water below.

Suddenly, a murmur on the wind caught in her ear.

' _Chris-tine_ ,' it whispered, caught by the air. She turned her ear to it, wondering if she had finally gone insane. Her foot edged closer to the drop.

' _Christine! Chris_ tine! Christine! No!'

She turned now to see her wonderful Phantom coming out of the snow. He looked as he always did, white mask, black suit hiding his bony frame, and eyes burning like candles.

'Christine.' Erik came to a halt a bit away from her, taking in the horror of the sight and afraid to push it further. He had put on his mask in hopes of assuring her it was truly him. He did not her want to have any doubts in her mind as to who he was.

'Oh,' she said in a dazed voice. 'You're here. How sweet,' she smiled at him as one would to a child presenting them with flowers.

'Christine, please come down,' he begged, his voice breaking at the sight and in the cold air.

'I thought you might come,' she continued as though he had not spoken.

'Of course I came. I heard you sing tonight.'

'Did you hear my song? Did you like it?' she asked, sounding as though she were asleep.

'I did, and I liked it very much,' he told her honestly.

She hummed happily. 'I wrote it for you.' He had known by her letter, but the sentiment had yet to fully sink in. Before he could come up with an answer, she continued in her dazed tone. 'I had rather hoped I would dream you at the end.'

'What? Christine, I'm not a dream. Please, come down from there.' He took a step forward, but she only looked away from him.

'Of course you are a dream. You can't be here now. You left me. You hate me and I deserve it.'

'Darling, how could I ever hate you?' he asked, trying a different approach. 'I love you, Christine. I always will.'

'Then why did you go?' she asked, tears now straining her dreamy voice.

'Because I was a fool. I thought that my leaving would make you happy and…me forget. I thought if I went away I could forget how much it hurts to not be with you. I thought that if I stayed away long enough, I could come back and see you happy and then it could all be over. I came back because Mrs. Giry told me I needed to. I thought it was to see you married, but instead I saw…'

'You saw me,' she finished.

'No. I saw a shadow of you.' She shook her head at this. 'I know what you can be, Christine. You said yourself that love shows you who you are. Well, is this who you are?!' he demanded, gesturing widely to her.

She choked out a sob. 'I don't know anymore!'

'Yes, you do! You have always known, but you've been too afraid to admit it! Admit it, Christine! You don't want this!' Her next sob nearly sent him to his knees. 'Christine, I love you. I know what you can be because you showed me that day in my kitchen. You knew the love you deserved from me. I found it and I give it to you freely. Christine,' he softened his voice again, taking a step towards her with his hand outstretched. 'I love you. Please, take my hand. It will be all right.'

'Everyone I love leaves me,' she said, still crying. 'Maman and Papa died, Raoul died, you left, and now Meg's engaged and going to be leaving soon.'

'I know, Christine. If I had known sooner about the b—about Raoul, I would have come back. I promise. I'm so sorry, Christine.' He took another step towards her.

She looked down at him now, seeing his hand with clearer eyes. 'You're really here.' He smiled up at her as her eyes melted further.

'I'm here, my love,' he assured, watching her hand reach out to his.

Her foot slid a bit making her squeal and hold onto the brick post with an even tighter grip. He lunged forward a bit, but she regained her footing quickly.

'Christine, take my hand,' he urged, ready to leap forward and either catch her or join her.

'I can't,' she wailed. 'I'm scared.' She sounded like a child.

'I know, love. But just take my hand and I will help you down, I promise.'

'I'll fall!'

'No, you won't. I won't let you,' he vowed solemnly to both her and himself.

Reaching out with trembling fingers, she searched for his hand. Just as she took it, she wobbled, sending her falling and screaming through the air. When she landed at his chest, his arms wrapping tightly round her, she let all of her fears out.

Erik caught her deftly in his arms, trembling with her as she quickly scrambled to cling to him. She held onto him as no one ever had before. All of her terror came through in wailing sobs at his neck, her fingers gripping at his jacket and nape of his neck. He nestled his own face into her shoulder, letting out his quivering breaths. He had never been so scared in all his life. No one had ever meant so much to him as she did.

'Erik,' she managed into one of her woeful exhales.

His own sobs joined her as he held her even tighter. He had her. He was holding her in his arms and he would be damned before he let anything part them now.

He felt he must have muttered a thousand "I love you"s into her neck as they both cried. How his legs still managed to hold them both up, he would never know.

Finally, as she started to calm some, she managed intelligible speech.

'I'm sorry,' she said almost as many times as Erik's sentiments.

'It's all right, my love.' He leaned his masked cheek against her temple.

'Erik, don't leave me!' she wailed now.

'I won't. I won't, I promise,' he replied.

He assured her countless more times, holding her close to prove his point. He enjoyed the weight of her in his arms again. He had not felt her warmth like this since that night back in May. He had not fully realised he missed it. She was lighter now than she had been, making him worry some. He had noted that she looked thinner when she sang tonight, but he saw now just how completely she had given up.

As she slowly began to calm, only hiccupping a bit, he felt her tremors continue. A gust of icy wind made her shake harder, making him see that she was shuddering from the cold. Cradling her closer, he felt her now freezing nose and ears pressed into his briefly exposed skin.

'Come, darling. Let me get you out of this cold. I told my cabby to wait, let's see if he listened,' he told her in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. She nodded against him, still shivering frightfully.

He tried to take longer steps, but the ice on the bridge was enough to make him slow a bit. He would _not_ be dropping her because of a slip on ice, he determined. He made it all the way down to the street without incident, however, and quickly spotted the cab.

'Why did you leave me?' she asked, her voice filling with tiredness.

Erik breathed a heavy sigh. He had hoped to get her into warmth before having this conversation. 'Because I thought it would make you happy,' he said with a voice laden with guilt.

'And because I hurt you?' It came out more as a statement than a question.

He let a long pause fill the air before answering quietly. 'Yes.'

She tucked her face, now cold from the wind, into his neck. Her breath was warm, heating the skin and making him withhold a shiver of pleasure. 'I'm sorry.' He continued to walk in silence until he felt a barely audible question against his neck. 'Promise you won't leave me again?'

This time he did not hesitate in his answer. 'So long as you want me, I will be here.'

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the cab was still waiting for them. He glanced at his charge to see if she wished to get down to enter the vehicle, but her eyes were drooping and her head heavy on his shoulder. She was fainting from exhaustion in his arms. Manoeuvring carefully, he managed to open the door without jostling her too much, though getting into the back seat was another matter. Once he was settled with her still in his arms, now resting on his lap while her arms continued to wrap round his neck, he instructed the driver to return to the Majestic.

The driver looked a bit quizzically in his mirror at the shadowed man and beautiful woman in the back, but did as he was told. He was not one to go testing his luck when it came to mysterious men with glowing eyes holding a young woman in his arms like a treasure.

Erik tried to remain sane, but when Christine whimpered his name in her sleep and burrowed her face further into him, he could not withhold his gasp. His fingers toyed at her hair as they rode. Her face was so calm, even in its reddened, tear-stained state. Her lips tugged at a smile as he leaned in further. He considered kissing her, but determined it best not to. He knew she was happy, but he was afraid of how long that would last. Would she still care for him come morning when all of what he had done came rushing back to her? He hoped she would, but kissing her while she slept seemed too forward even in tonight's mood.

Christine hummed happily into him as she continued to find comfort in his arms.

'I love you, Christine,' Erik whispered into her hair, relishing the myriad of sensations having her this close brought. 'I promise to never leave you again.'

The cabby glanced back into his mirror again, seeing the smile in the shadow's eyes.

'You a soldier, son?' the driver asked.

Erik looked up, knowing he was hidden still. 'I was, yes.'

The cab driver nodded understandingly. 'I know how that goes. I fought in the last war. Nasty business. Still, it was nice to come home again.'

Erik looked down at the woman sleeping against him. 'Yes, yes it is.'

'Son,' the cabby said as they pulled up outside the Majestic, 'love can come round more than once.' Erik looked up with tired yet attentive eyes. 'But who's willing to take a chance?'

Erik smiled at the cabby's mirth filled words. Fishing out his wallet, he paid the man with a good tip. 'Believe me,' he said, working to open the door before hoisting the sleeping Christine out. 'When it comes to her,' he nodded at his charge, 'I'm not taking any chances.'

The driver nodded his agreement as Erik stepped out into the cold night again. Christine shivered a bit in response as he quickly walked to the front door of the café, hitting a secret switch with his toe. It was convenient when his arms were full of groceries.

'I know, my dear, I know. I'll get us down below soon and you can warm up in your bed,' he promised softly, working his way to the dressing room and beyond the mirror.

He was beyond grateful he had made the elevator to work without closing the doors. He had no hands to spare on opening and closing the gate.

He was surprised when they landed in the house below the café. It was dark and cold. He had never allowed it to get so before and it was somewhat daunting to see. Looking at Christine, he knew he would make it warm and bright for her again.

He set off to her bedroom, opening the door with the hand holding her knees. This room was also dark and fairly cold. Being underground when the weather was already below freezing outside did not make matters any better. He had enjoyed watching the snowflakes melting from her hair in the cab, though.

Setting her down on the bed, he managed to wrestle her coat off of her, planning to simply wrapping it round her like another blanket. She, apparently, had other plans. She regained her grip round his shoulders possessively and whined a bit when he tried to get her to let go.

'Darling,' he muttered in mild frustration.

'Don't…want you to go,' she mumbled in her sleep, starting to wake a bit.

'I know, my dearest, but there are still a few chores I have to take care of. Believe me, there is nothing I would love more than to lie beside you all night long, but I have to warm up the house and make it presentable to you.' He ignored how silly it seemed to be talking to a sleeping girl like this.

Finally prying himself free, he stood and looked over her sleeping form. She was beautiful as always. Just as he began to turn to leave the room, however, he felt something warm enter his hand. He stared back at the now somewhat wakeful Christine. She still had sleep glazing her eyes slightly, but she was making the effort to stay awake.

Erik felt guilt plague his heart to see her so frightful of his leaving her. He sank down on the bed beside her, rubbing her shoulder and running his fingers through her hair. She relaxed some when he did this, her eyes wearily closing.

'Will you sing for me?' she asked in her half-dreaming voice.

'Of course, my love,' he replied, knowing any little thing he could do to ease her fears would be a privilege to him.

Clearing his throat carefully, he thought through the many songs he knew until his mind landed on one just for her to drift back to sleep to.

 _It's very clear  
Our love is here to stay.  
Not for a year, but ever and a day. _

She smiled dreamily as he continued his song. He returned the affectionate expression, savouring the moment with her.

 _But oh my dear  
Our love is here to stay.  
Together we're going a long long way. _

Erik watched her peacefully sleep, being lulled by the gentle power of his voice. He let her slip away into the welcoming arms of dreams as he softly rose from the bed, daring to whisper the faintest of "good night"s before closing the door just as quietly. He breathed a heavy sigh as he faced the rest of his house. He was glad he could see in the dark, having left the light off in her room. He set his cat-like sights on the fireplace, igniting it swiftly so as to spread warmth through the home. He also checked his own radiator to make sure it was still going properly. He cursed his hindsight as he realised Christine's was still off. He feared waking her, so he simply opened the doors in the bathroom, hoping to connect the flow of heat.

He went next to the kitchen, glad that his dishes were all kept away in their cupboards to protect them from the dust which had settled over most every part of the house in his absence. It was a constant battle in his home. Wiping down the counters and checking the stove, he was happy to see it all still working well. The only problem was that there was no food in the refrigerator and he did not have a pantry to speak of. He never ate much, so storing food was not a necessity. He had argued it with himself once that having a pantry would keep him from having to venture out into the world so often, but he had not cared enough. Perhaps having Christine living with him would make it more important.

He stopped, realising his fantasies were getting ahead of him again. He knew she cared and did not want him to leave her, but thinking she would wish to stay was something different. He had found in his life that it was best not to assume anything, let alone something good happening to him. Yet, oh, how he loved her.

Seeing her standing on the edge of that bridge, looking down at him and thinking he was a dream, nearly broke him. He had thought he would be prepared to see her again, but the situation mixed with his general failed assumptions had threatened to bring him to his knees. She was still his angel, and no matter how hard he had tried to forget her and how wonderful it would be to spend the rest of his life with her, he knew she always would be. But tonight he had been her saviour. He had helped in her destruction, and so he would do his upmost to see that her redemption was swift.

Sighing again, he realised how tired he was. He went to his chair before the fire and determined to rest there, until something caught in his mind. He had nearly forgotten it when hurrying to get Christine to bed. The box by the mirror.

Looking at her door as though trying to read its mood, he snuck back into the elevator and went up to retrieve the box apparently filled with letters. He was not mislead in thinking so.

Hauling it into the living room, he retook his seat beside the fire and started on his reading assignment. To his surprise, he found them stacked oldest to newest for his convenience. She must have gone through and arranged them for him even though she thought he may never read them. His heart twisted at this thought; of how lost she must have been to bother with such a thing.

Looking at even the first letter, he knew this would be a long night.

 **A/N:** ** _Love is Here to Stay_** **, 1938. Composed by George Gershwin, lyrics by Ira Gershwin for the film** ** _The Goldwyn Follies_** **.**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Well, kids, here we are at the last chapter. I hope you have enjoyed the story and all of the goodies I spread about Tumblr for it. I want to thank you for reading, following, favouriting, reviewing, and all of the lovely things you all do. I appreciate the support and kindness this site brings. Thank you, and so long for now!**

Christine awoke slowly, hearing nothing but silence echoing in her room. She rolled over to turn on the light by her bed, but found it was not there. Puzzled, she tried to squint in the darkness to see, but it was too thick. Trying the other side, she found a small bedside table and lamp.

She blinked harshly as light invaded the room, casting the shadows out. As her eyes slowly adjusted, she gasped at the sight of her surroundings. She was in her bedroom, but not the one in her apartment. She was in the house underneath the Majestic.

She searched her still dream hazed mind for memories of how she had gotten down here, but was too preoccupied with the pounding in her heart to come up with anything. She let herself dare to hope, flying from the bed and shivering as her toes hit the cold floor. She looked down at herself, cringing slightly to see how wrinkled her clothes were. Why was it that every time she slept in Erik's home or presence she wound up in horribly wrinkled dresses, she wondered. Walking to the armoire, she picked out a simple, long-sleeved dress. It came down to her knees in a fairly fitted skirt and tied in a bow at her neck. The fabric was a nice thickness for the cold of January and was a pleasant cherry, wine colour.

Getting changed quickly, she tried to make herself presentable. Excitement quickly got the better of her, however, as she soon was dashing from the room into the hall. She looked to the living room but found it empty with nothing but the fire peacefully crackling in its grate. Turning her sights to the kitchen, she continued her search of her masked companion. When this room also proved fruitless, she tried to quell her growing anxiety by looking in the dining room, thinking perhaps she would see him fussing over the presentation of breakfast as she had that Easter Sunday so many months ago, but there was no one.

A sob choked in her throat as she moved to his bedroom door. So much about this room seemed forbidding, but her fears were enough to press her forward. What had happened last night? She could not completely remember. She knew she had sung and done well enough. She had said goodbye to Meg and Mrs. Giry before heading out to the bridge. She caught vague hints of whipping icy winds and a scream as she fell, but clearly she had not gone into river. She thought she remembered seeing Erik there at the bridge and talking to him. Perhaps it was all a dream. She had dreamt he had come and maybe talked her down from the rail. She must have come back here somehow, but why? Looking about the painfully empty house, she knew he would not be here. She could always sense when he was around and this house was vacant. Why would she return here to wallow in her own misery? But, she thought as she knocked on his bedroom door desperately, if she had come here after the bridge, then why was there a fire in the hearth?

No reply came through the dark wood and her heart sunk somehow further.

Walking into the dark room, she heard the soft hiss of the radiator, only increasing her despair. What if Erik had come back and brought her to his home again? But he was not here now, so where had he gone? He had not left a note, as was his tendency, and his home was still fairly dusty from disuse.

She went over to his coffin bed, still shuddering at the sight of it. How could someone so modern and hyper-aware of seeming normal stand to sleep in something so morbid? Looking over to the piano across from it, she saw a robe draped over the bench. She hesitated before picking it up. It still smelled like him. Pulling it to her face, she inhaled his scent deeply. He had always reminded her of a cedar chest filled with all sorts of exciting and forgotten things. She let out a sob as she felt the loneliness wash over her again. He was gone. Whether or not he had come back to help her didn't matter, for he was gone now.

Hopelessness filled her being as she trudged back to his bed, slumping on the floor beside it, the robe still clutched to her face as she wept.

It was only moments later that she heard a strange buzzing and slightly clanging noise coming from the living room. Fear struck through her first as she wondered what it could be and if she was brave enough to investigate. On shaking legs, she stood from her curled position on the hard wood floor and edged toward the bedroom door. Clinging to the robe like a security blanket, she walked through the hallway, hearing the noise come to a crescendo in the living room before stopping abruptly. She waited at the doorway to the room a moment, considering if she should try to hide herself rather than confront whatever was awaiting her.

Peeking round the edge of the doorway, she felt the air rush from her.

Erik stood, closing the elevator door, the two bags of fresh groceries waiting on the floor. He turned when he caught slight motion out the corner of his eye and stood frozen. There was Christine, wearing one of the dresses he had bought for her, her eyes red from crying, and clutching at his robe. The last fact caused him some confusion, but he put it aside to focus on her quickly watering eyes.

'Erik!' she cried, running into the room and throwing her arms round him. He had to step back with a slight "oof" from the impact, but held her just as tightly. He had to withhold his own tears as she sobbed into him much like she had the night before.

'Shhh, darling, it's all right,' he assured her, trying to sooth her. 'I'm here, it's all right. Erik's not going anywhere,' he added when she clung to him with a tear garbled cry of not wanting him to leave her.

'When I woke up, I thought you were a dream,' she wept, somehow managing clearer words this time.

'Shhh, no, it's all right. I'm here. I'm real, I promise.' He rested his chin on her temple, continuing in the joy of holding her. Were it not for the tears she was shedding, he would ask for this more often.

Bending forward just enough to scoop up her legs, he carried her over to the sofa. This did not seem to be ending any time soon. He held her in his arms much like he had in the taxi the night before. He savoured every moment of it just as before.

'I'm sorry,' she finally muttered into him.

'For what?' he asked, peering at her questioningly.

'For lying about choosing Raoul. I thought I could make things better, but you were right. I ruined everything!' Erik remained silent, feeling the pain her choice had caused him. He had known that night when he nearly struck her that it would not work. Things were too far out of joint to work anymore. 'I tried to tell you the truth that night. I wanted tell you so badly, but you left instead. You left me all alone.'

Erik smoothed the curls at the back of her head, closing his eyes as he realised the full impact of his choices. Here they could have been together all these months if he had waited for just a few more moments. But things would still be wrong. She would have been engaged to Raoul but with him. It would have been wrong. Yet she was not the one entirely at fault. Though it may have been wrong to do what she did, his leaving did not help matters. He had known how broken she was but he had left her. He knew she felt alone and he abandoned her anyway.

'Oh, my foolish girl,' he whispered into her hair, knowing that both of them were to blame. 'I do not deserve you.'

'You must hate me!' she wailed.

Something snapped in him. He pulled her from his shoulder and held her before him by the arms. He eyed her strongly as despair continued to fill her expression.

'I meant what I said last night, Christine. I could never hate you.' His eyes softened suddenly. 'I love you, my darling. Please do not ever doubt that,' he let a hand travel up to cup her cheek. She leaned into it, wetting his skin from her tears. She was so soft and gentle it made him sigh. She was like an angel.

'I will always love you,' he whispered softly to her, bringing his mask's nose to rest beside hers, their foreheads touching. 'And,' he continued, feeling the pain of his actions well up in him. 'I am the one who should be begging forgiveness. You are right, if I had only stayed with you. If I had not left, you would not have had to face all of this on your own. I should have known how much this would hurt you, but I thought only of myself and how it affected me. I did a despicable thing in leaving you, my love. Please, forgive me.'

'Does this mean you won't leave me again?' she asked, echoing her sleepy question from the night before.

He leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. 'I promise, my darling.'

She pulled back some, her mouth now shaping sweetly into a smile. 'Erik,' she murmured softly. He hummed his reply. She bit down on her lip as her fingers crept up to his jaw, toying at the edge of the mask. He pulled back quickly as he felt them tuck under the edge. He grabbed her wrists to stop her, but loosened his grip when he saw the alarmed look in her eye.

'My love, it has not gotten any better with time,' he tried to smile, but his tone was too solemn to allow it.

'Then you will be as beautiful as ever,' she said, smiling from the heart. She took the mask, keeping his eyes locked with hers as she lifted the smooth, white leather from his face.

True, it had not changed any since the last time she had seen it, but she did not care anymore. She set the mask beside them on the sofa and reached out to gently hold his cheek as he had done for her moments ago. He sighed into it, letting a tear finally slip free.

'Erik,' she started again. 'Promise me you won't…go away,' she gazed at him like a child, but he found it somehow endearing.

'I will do my best for you, my dear,' he answered with sincerity shining in his smile.

She smiled in return, all of her worry seeming to melt from her. It was with pure eyes and an open heart that she spoke the words he had been longing to hear from her since the moment he saw her.

'I love you, Erik.'

Yet, it was not only the words she granted him, as she pulled him into a kiss.

His arms shot out to the sides in shock as his breath hitched painfully. Her warm lips were pressed so wonderfully against his that all he could do was stare at her in enraptured awe. She held his face in her slender fingers, keeping him from flying away.

At feeling his lack of involvement or any kind of reaction beyond surprise, she pulled back, searching his gaze. Her brows knitted in concern as he remained somewhat paralysed, staring at her. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong when he rushed forward with a hurried, 'I love you', before pulling their mouths together.

It was her turn to be shocked as he pulled her into him protectively. He cradled her head gently, but kept a firm grip on her. She took a moment to smile into his kiss, glad to see him acting on his own desires for once, before melting into him.

They moved with each other as fluidly as though they were dancing until they both ran out of breath. Erik reluctantly released her, feeling her warm puffs of air on his face while they panted. Taking the back of his head in her hand, she kissed him on each cheek.

She smiled as he laughed in light gasps. 'I never thought anyone would ever kiss me,' he admitted, too happy to let a touch of mourning into such a lonely confession.

Pulling him in for one more, slightly shorter kiss, she smiled back. 'Well, I'm afraid I'm only going to let you kiss me from now on,' she replied, grinning somewhat sheepishly.

'I would not have it any other way.' He kissed her once more, very much enjoying the idea of being allowed to do so forever.

Christine rested her head on his shoulder, snuggling into him happily as he leaned his temple against her. She smiled contentedly, peering up at him. She had truly missed being near him. He always seemed to crave physical attention, but never was brave enough to ask for it. Most importantly, she knew he loved her and he knew she loved him. After having finally spoken the words, she felt relief wash over her. All of the fears and doubt she had held in from expressing herself had faded the instant she had let the words free.

Letting her gaze drift, she looked over to the elevator, knowing how foolish she had been to not check it first upon waking. If she had simply seen that it was gone, she could have calmly waited for him to return. Erik would never leave her alone down here. Seeing it now, she noticed the two grocery bags sitting on the floor. Perking her head up, she realised her tearful entry into the room had disturbed Erik from his task.

'Oh, you bought groceries,' she said, hearing the timid faintness of her voice.

'Hmm? Oh, yes. I used most of my ration book for it, though. Providing for two is a bit more difficult when you're only signed up for one,' he told her sheepishly.

'That's all right, we can share. Next time I'll buy them.' She eyed him meaningfully. 'Maybe over breakfast you can tell me all you have done over the past few months.' Her voice was grim as she forced herself to consider that time. She knew he loved her, but she wondered if he had been happy without her.

Erik's eyes darkened some in regret. He knew now what she had been doing all this time: waiting for him. Meanwhile he had been drifting from place to place hoping to push her and the war from his mind. He had found his attacks becoming more and more frequent as news of the war increased. Or, perhaps it was being away from Christine.

Still, he managed a smile for her, standing with her still in his arms. 'I suppose I owe you that much, eh?'

'Um, Erik,' she muttered, blushing slightly as they moved to the groceries. 'Don't you think it would be easier if you put me down first?'

He let his embarrassment colour his face a bit as he let her down with a few mumbled apologies and agreements. She had to hold in a giggle as he picked up the bags, moving off to the kitchen, continuing to reprimand himself.

'So where did you go?' she asked, mostly to get his mind off the self-degrading path he was quickly setting it on.

'Oh, I moved around a bit. I went up to Maine for a while. It can be so nice and cloudy up there. I stayed just outside of a small town, keeping out of the way of the locals. I suppose that lasted until about August, then I travelled up to Canada. That was nice. Cold, but nice. I puttered around Québec City for a while before getting Mrs. Giry's letter and coming back here. I took the train and arrived last night when I heard you sing.'

Christine eyed him doubtfully at his extremely brief description of six months, but decided to let it pass. 'How did Mrs. Giry know where you were?' she asked, wondering how the woman knew Erik at all.

'She has been a very helpful to me in keeping the managers in line. I kept in contact with her in case…' he looked down. 'In case you needed me.' He looked down at Christine, his tired worry from the night before showing in his eyes. 'She told me you were not doing well. She convinced me to return.'

Christine realised she had much to thank her adoptive mother for. Were it not for Mrs. Giry's intervention, Erik would still be in Canada and Christine would likely be floating in the river by now. This thought chilled her, but her fears were still present when it came to Erik's remaining with her. She knew he felt badly for leaving, but she had lost too many people to let his abandonment slide. 'You're here to stay now, right?' she asked coming up beside him, searching out those luminous eyes.

He smiled down at her. 'If you'll have me.'

'Oh, yes!' she nearly wept again, throwing her arms about him. 'I never want you to leave me. I will never lie to you again!'

Erik chuckled a bit, making this the most she had ever heard him laugh. 'You needn't worry, darling. I have learnt my lesson for leaving. Besides, I am the one who did the most damage. I should be begging you to take me back on bended knee.' Bringing her out to arm's length, he cupped her jaw in his long fingered hands. 'Darling, I am so sorry for how I behaved that night. I was cruel to you.'

'And Carlotta,' she put in, remembering the unfortunate shaming of the woman. No one at the Majestic had seen or heard from her ever since she fled the stage.

Erik ducked his head, having forgotten about that. 'She will never sing again. If she works at it, she should be able to manage speaking, though,' he explained, feeling the rift starting to open up between him and his beloved. 'Oh, forgive your Erik,' he begged, sinking towards the floor. 'He was confused and hurt and frightened to lose you forever that night. When he saw he nearly hit you, he could not stand it. He knew he had hurt you. Forgive him. He ran away so that he could not hurt you anymore, but you did it for him. You hurt yourself, Christine, and he was so scared when he saw what you almost did,' he wept now, pulling at the hem of her dress much as he had the first night she had seen him and his home.

'Erik!' she cried, seeing him start to hyperventilate. He barely heard her, feeling the pain start to close in around him. He could not breathe or think. It was all going too fast. He heard the guns and the bombs. He heard the cries of men wanting to go home, the unending fields of mud and fallen soldiers. He heard…Christine. She was singing for him. He could not make out the words fully, but if he listened very closely he felt he could make it to her. He gripped and struggled at what little he could until he finally saw her face. There she was, as beautiful as ever and holding him to her like the child he seemed to have become. Straightening some, he returned the embrace, realising he had suffered an attack.

'Oh, Christine,' he held her closer, letting the scent of her chain him to the present.

'Shhh, it's all right,' she whispered as he had for her. 'I'm here. We're both here. You're safe with me, my love.'

'Y-you s-still love m-me?' he asked through the sobs he had started when he went into his nightmare.

'Of course I do. I don't always agree with things you have done, and I think you have a lot to atone for, but we can work through it together.'

He held her a bit closer. 'W-will you stay with me? Here, in my home?'

Christine smiled, kissing his hairline. 'I actually have very little choice. My apartment is supposed to be vacant by tonight. Everyone thinks I am going off to Sweden,' she explained.

'Would you like to go to Sweden?' he asked, his eyes shining innocently like a child.

'Only if you would rather not stay here,' she replied, watching him cringe from the idea of leaving only after he had just gotten back.

Humming thoughtfully, he sat up some, slowly regaining his more formal demeanour. 'Perhaps you should tell the Girys you plan on staying, though. I am sure the young Ms. Giry would appreciate not having to lose her friend.'

Christine nodded. 'Will you come with me? I have mentioned you to her before and clearly Mrs. Giry knows a bit about you.'

'Yes, but neither have ever seen me. Let us take that one a bit slower.'

She agreed peacefully, taking his hand as they stood. 'Then, shall I ask for my job back?'

Erik shrugged indifferently. 'Only if you wish to. We could look at moving, if you want. Nothing immediate. I have plenty for us to survive on as it is.' He went off to start cooking them breakfast.

Christine smiled, watching his graceful motions. He moved with such wonderful fluidity and elegance that she forgot how painfully angled he was.

'You know, Erik,' she said, standing beside him to help cut some fresh strawberries. She tucked one into his mouth when he turned to look at her. She shared his grin. 'It is a bit scandalous for me, an unmarried woman, to live with you, a single man.'

Erik swallowed his bite of strawberry thickly, his face growing pale and his eyes wide. Surely she did not mean… One look at her eyes, both deviously coy and slightly unsure, made him certain.

'Christine, are you proposing marriage?' he asked, still too shocked to feel the game in his words.

'Possibly. Would you accept it if I did?'

'Yes, but…could we wait?'

She smiled at him. 'I think that would be best.' She looked down, thoughts of her previous engagement clouding her mind. Erik seemed to notice and folded her in his embrace once more.

'I love you, Christine. I want you to always know that.'

She nodded against him. She knew it would be different now. He was not Raoul and things would not be as simple or predictable. She could come back into being herself again with Erik beside her. She knew her dependency on him was wrong, but she had needed someone to rely on these past few years. She lost confidence if she had no one to live for. She also knew that Raoul would not want her to be miserable. He would want her to be safe and happy and loved. He may not have put much thought into her own ambitions, but he would not want her to lose hope of happiness. He would not have wanted her to destroy herself as she had attempted to the previous night. She had shamed both men in her actions. She would work to make it up to them, for she knew they both loved her for her strength, no matter how uncertain it could be.

Erik looked down at the woman in his arms. He did not deserve her, or the love and faith she put into him. He had done nothing but hurt her and yet here she was, holding onto him. He would do everything in his power to help her and keep her just the way she was. He would not change her for anything. He had made mistakes, often worse ones than she had, out of desperation and yet he somehow had managed to still win her. He would be damned before he let that go to waste.

'Promise you won't leave me,' he whispered into her hair.

She looked up at him, knowing he was referring to more. He was still afraid of her near self-destruction. She nodded firmly, knowing she was promising to both men that she would be better. She would not let herself be led into that darkness by fear and insecurity again.

They still had much to work through, but neither was willing to let the other fall or drift away from it.

After a few more moments of deep silence, they went back to making breakfast and soon they were laughing and enjoying each other's company. There was time to make up for, and Erik realised that their shared smiles would go far in mending the gap between them. He looked down to her, relishing every moment and dreaming up the ones he would be able to share with her in their new future.

 **A/N: I would like to issue one last bout of thanks for everyone who has read this. I would also like to continue my unending gratitude to Phanatic01 for proofreading this for me and just being an all-around wonderful friend. Thank you!**


End file.
